The House of Badassdom
by Achaewa
Summary: Tristan Alaire, a pre-mending planeswalker loses a wager to Sheogorath and Sanguine. His punishment? Being sent to the world of GoT. This is the tale of how one man ruined the "Game" for everyone. Genderbending with Femslash and Het (maybe). THIS STORY HAS BEEN DISCONTINUED. Check out Reign of Fire instead.
1. Chapter 1: Vagueness is Coming

As you probably guessed, this story will not be completely serious.

Since I've got some complaints of the comedy not flowing that well and having reread it myself. I have decided to rewrite, refine and repost it, with a slightly more serious tone. Though Tristan singing will not be removed, this time though it is not supernatural...well not completely. And let me just say that he will sing in future chapters. But I'll try and tone it down.

Magic in this story will not follow Magic the Gathering to a tee, but is simply there to aid my character in creating awesome stuff.

This story takes place in the Game of Thrones TV-Series canon, as that is what I'm most familiar with. Characters from the books might appear, but I can't promise it as I haven't read them, I have though studied the wiki. The story will begin at the start of Season 4. So no Stark!Wank.

I will shift some events around, to either take place at the same time or be closer to each other. So some stuff happening in episode two, might actually take place at the same time as events in episode one. Some of the "canon" dialogue might also be a little different as I have no plans on re-watching the entire season 4.

The M rating will mainly be for the occasional scene of melee combat and language.

**The House of Badassdom  
****Chapter 1: Vagueness is Coming**

**"**_**But he's just a sweet kid."**_** \- My Dad's opinion of Joffrey, halfway through the pilot.**

Three people were sitting at a round oak table in a clearing of grass. Thick forest surrounded them and the sun shining through the canopy. Two small streams ran around the glade, giving the location an idyllic mood.

One of the table's three occupants was a human man clad in a loose white shirt and brown cotton pants with matching boots. His hair was raven black and went down to his earlobes. He had a short beard, bordering on stubble, together with a mustache. His face was handsome and free of imperfections, and his eyes were as green as the foliage around them, denoting his otherworldliness. For the occasion his hair was slicked back.

This man was Tristan Alaire, a planeswalker. Known primarily by his peers for taking on a new life every century. Most of the time choosing to be reborn as a child with no knowledge of what the truly was, but always destined for greatness. At the moment of death. Tristan would return to the astral planes between the worlds, with the memory of the life he had led intact and free to pursue new adventures.

Tristan remembered the numerous lives he had experienced in those alternate dimensions. An Alexander the Great who did not die. A Boudicca who succeeded in expelling the Romans from Britain. A Xerxes who managed to conquer Hellas. Tristan had long since stopped focusing solely on historical figures and sometimes shifted his attention to more fantastic worlds. Though in those cases he mostly took on the role of a newcomer instead of an established character.

Having lived through numerous lives as both men and women. Tristan had long since forgotten his original gender and species, usually changing his appearance as he pleased. This was unlike most of his contemporaries - Nicol Bolas for example - who chose to remain in the form they had before their ascendance. Then again Bolas had been born a frigging dragon. Even Tristan Alaire was not his original name, which had been lost to the vast abyss of space and time.

The other man at the table was dressed in a purple three-piece suit with golden threads and a double-breasted waistcoat. He had a big black bushy handlebar mustache, a monocle in his right eye, together with a black top hat and white gloves. This was Sheogorath, the Daedric Prince of Madness and the one who had gathered the two others.

The third person at the table was a beautiful woman with a mane of curly black hair and a pair of golden catlike eyes that had a mischievous glint in them. She was clad in a teal dress, that covered her body, but hugged her curves. This was a female form of Sanguine, Daedric Prince of Debauchery and Hedonism.

At the moment all three were sitting at the table, trying to outwit each other in a game of poker. As of the moment none of them had managed to gain the upper hand. A common problem when beings of equal measure played against each other.

Sanguine was the first to break everyones concentration as she spoke in a singsong voice.

"How 'bout a wager?"

"A most splendid idea lass!" Sheogorath exclaimed, throwing his cards on the table and fixed his monocle. Sanguine sent him a glare at being called lass, but shrugged it off with a smirk.

"Sure why not, I only got eternity after all," Tristan grinned, putting his cards on the table as Sanguine began to reshuffle the deck. He conjured a jug of wine together with three goblets and poured one for each of them. "What are the stakes?"

"Ah, well let me think..." Sanguine leaned back in her chair, pretending to ponder on the subject.

Sheogorath fixed his hat and emptied his goblet in one swill. "Well I have the perfect wager!"

"So let me get this right?" Tristan spoke a few minutes later, holding a hand before himself, a smile on his face, "The loser has to spend a certain amount of time in another world trying to somehow make it better than when they arrived...and we'll still retain our powers...how's that different from what we normally do?"

"Exactly! Howbeit, there will be some rules," Sheogorath replied, "The only power you can't use is the ability to travel to other worlds. You can send others to alternate dimensions, but not yourself, not until the stakes have been fulfilled!"

"I for one welcome those odds!" Sanguine cut in. "Seeing the faces of lesser beings as their plans crumble around them...is ehm...so exhilarating," the Daedra continued in a slightly aroused tone.

Okay, any other rules?"

"Weapons have to be at the same level as the world: no firearms in a pre-industrial world, no magic in a non-magical one etcetera," Sheogorath explained. "Magic, airships, magical airships, fireballs from your eyes and lightning bolts from your ass...all fine, but no firearms."

Tristan leaned back and stretched his arms above his head "Well, I don't have anything planned for the next century. Bring it on!"

Sanguine dealt their cards and all three sniggered as the Planeswalker made the first move.

"Seems like we found ourselves a loser," Sanguine giggled as all three had thrown their cards on the table. She looked at Tristan and leaned forward, batting her eyelashes at him, while Sheogorath had jumping up from his chair to do a victory dance around the table.

Tristan let out a short laugh. "So...which world shall I go to?"

Sheogorath stopped mid dance, standing on one leg as he fixed his monocle. He then went over to Sanguine. The two daedra spent a few minutes whispering together and shooting Tristan a few glances. As they pulled away from each other, they both smiled like schoolgirls and went back to him.

"Tristan my good man or woman..." The Prince of Madness pointed at him. "You will go to another world! A world of ICE AND FIRAH!"

"More like ass and fire," Sanguine commented, wiggling her eyebrows at the Planeswalker.

"Now, Tristan! Why don't you go change into something more comfortably...with that I mean something less homeless man looking." Sheogorath waved his hand and conjured up a folding screen at the other end of the clearing.

Tristan smiled and went behind the screen, a bright flash appeared behind it, before he came into view a few seconds later. Clad in white and blue, 18th century assassin robes. The long jacket that went to his knees was turquoise and white, while the blouse beneath it was white. Leather armor vest protected his sides, back and arms. His pants were dark brown, with his boots matching the color. A red sash ran around his waist. The trademark assassin hood was pulled down.

"I see you didn't live several lifetimes as an assassin for nothing," Sanguine chuckled, having placed herself back in her ornate oak chair, legs on the table, while rolling a silver amulet between her fingers.

"Some of the best lives I've had, were sailing the seas as one of them," Tristan grinned mischievously. Catching the amulet that Sanguine threw at him. The amulet was solid silver and bulged slightly at its middle. Etched into it were two serpents intertwined, both meeting beneath a crown of golden flowers that one upheld and one devoured. The background was highlighted by green while the etchings were dark. The eyes of the serpents were small emeralds.

"Nice," Tristan commented, summoning forth a leather strap, attaching it to the small protrusion at the amulet's top and pulled it over his head.

"That medallion is an instant teleporter..." Sheogorath said, having summoning the Wabbajack to use as a cane. He quickly moved up to Tristan and waved the staff at the aforementioned piece of jewelry. It glowed purple for a moment. "And now it will do just that...and a little to give it that extra...umph!"

Tristan didn't like the twinkle in Sheogorath's eyes, but shrugged it off. After all, when did the Prince of Madness not have a twinkle in his eyes.

"What about weapons?" Sanguine enquired, having gotten up from her chair as Tristan made sure both his hidden blades worked. Each of them, when extracted, extended thirty centimeters from his wrists. Unlike the ones used by Assassins, Tristan's blades were magical. All he had to do in order to release the blades were to think the action, open his hands while flicking his wrists to unclasp the safety and voila - hidden blades no longer hidden. Tristan was such a fan of these deadly tools that he even used them on other adventures.

"I got these," Tristan smiled, holding his arms up as he retracted the blades.

"Well, that just won't suffice," Sanguine said. She placed her right hand behind her back and pulled forth a finely crafted sword in a black leather scabbard with silver ends. The Daedra tossed the sword at Tristan who caught it. "I reckon you're a Lord of the Rings fanatic...this seems appropriate."

Tristan pulled the sword out and studied it, letting out an appreciative laugh before placing it back in its scabbard. "Andúril, FLAME OF THE WEST! I should thank you, been centuries since I've seen this sword, though last time it cut off my fingers."

"Who needs fingers anyway?" Sheogorath cut in.

"A sword fit for a king!" Sanguine voiced in a dramatic manner, ignoring the other Daedra. "Fit for one set on changing the world. You are going to do that, right?"

Tristan pretended to be taken aback. "Sanguine, I thought you knew me! I always leave an impression, whether people want it or not."

"That's my man," Sanguine chuckled as she poured more wine into her goblet. "Seriously though, be careful with that sword...in the wrong hands it's just a sword, but in the right ones...tsk tsk, tsk...it will cut like a hot knife through butter."

"In the world you're going to, they have something called Valyrian steel!" Sheogorath commented. "Magical metal which is better, faster, harder, stronger. Well forget all that because Andúril here, in righteous hands; will be to Valyrian steel what Valyrian steel is to regular steel."

Tristan let out a mock evil laugh as he attached the sword to his belt, on his right side.

"And this is from me!" The Prince of Madness exclaimed, having discarded the Wabbajack. "Taken from you personal chambers...which I must say are lacking...IN CHEESE!"

Sheogorath ignored Tristan's annoyed outburst and pulled forth what looked like a short sword that lacked a crossguard. Thirty centimeters of the weapon were a slightly leaf-shaped blade with flowery engravings running along its top. The shaft made up fifty centimeters of the weapon, with half of it covered in a black leather strip and curved slightly downwards. The rest of it was made of steel, engraved with silver and black patterns; flowers, thorns, stars, all crisscrossing along the shaft. It was eighty centimeter in total and Tristan's weapon of choice.

The Planeswalker admired the weapon as he took it from Sheogorath. He had gotten the inspiration for it from an elven prince he was once knew, who fought with a similar weapon. Tristan turned it around in his hand until he held it horizontally in front of himself. He let his will flow through and the sword with a shaft longer than its blade, turned from its compact form into its full size. Revealing it to be a spear - the Silverspear. The entire weapon was made of adamantium, ensuring that almost nothing could cut through it, with it in turn cutting through everything else.

"Just promise me you'll use it in your quest for world conquerage," the Prince of Madness spoke, butchering the English language.

Tristan laughed as he returned his spear to its compact form, called forth its adamantium lined scabbard and attached it to the belt that ran across his left shoulder and down. Making sure the spear was locked in place, so it did not slide out, he turned to look at the two daedra.

"Let's go over the rules again," Sanguine said as she emptied her goblet. "No guns and no and you can't leave the realm before you've made a significant impact."

The Daedric Prince of Debauchery and Hedonism danced around Tristan, waving her hands and enveloping him in green energy, while Sheogorath began twirling the Wabbajack. Tristan himself extended his arms, going into a crucified hero pose as the light around him grew brighter.

"Oh, I almost forgot to tell you!" Sheogorath cut in as Sanguine continued the astral transportation ritual. "The amulet...it will choose a new destination randomly, unless you've already been there, kind of like fast traveling!"

"WHAT! You didn't think of that before you..."

The Prince of Madness chose to ignore Tristan for the opportunity to give a rousing speech.

"Go, ye Dragonborn, go to glory - though ye die in combat gory, Ye shall live in song and story! Go to Immortality! Go to death, and go to slaughter! Die, and every Cornish daughter, With her tears, your graves will water!

Go, ye heroes, go and die!"

"ARE YOU SERIOUS? GILBERT AND SULLIVAN!" Tristan pointed at the two daedra in disbelief. "Besides I'm not a Dragonborn anymore, I'm a Dragon Commander!"

"Ritual's complete!" Sanguine exclaimed, clapping her hands together. "We'll hold a party when the wager's done!"

"Wait, what kind of magic does this amulet uses?!" Tristan never got an answer as he immediately disappeared in a puff of green smoke and bright light.

"You think we should have told him 'bout the amulet's other effects?" Sanguine asked, nudging Sheogorath in the side with her elbow.

"Nah, he'll figure it out...aaand he's gonna get pissed," Sheogorath replied, earning a laugh from Sanguine.

**Approaching Westeros  
**Tristan always liked traveling through the planes between existence. Many mortals liked to imagine that what was between the worlds was a void, bereft of anything but endless nothingness. In reality the astral planes that one would find themselves in when traveling from one plane of existence to another would take the form of what the person experiencing it found most comfortable. Endless fields of grass, a peaceful forest, a beach of white sand stretching as far as the eye could see. Sometimes it was none of those and instead an inn where one could meet other likeminded travelers. Those were just some of the few examples among a myriad of others that one could experience in inter-dimensional space.

Tristan's preferred version the void was to fall through an endless sky of soft clouds with the sun on his back.

"Damn daedra always telling you half of what to know..." Tristan muttered as he flew through a cloud. He shook his head, "And knowing is after all, half the battle."

"Here comes the shitty part!" Tristan yelled as a planet formed beneath him. Taking his time to study the planet that raced towards him, the Planeswalker could spot two large continents - one being long and narrow, reminiscent of the British Isles, stretching from the equator all the way to the north pole. To its left was a large square-like continent, attached to a much larger one, but separated by a massive mountain range. Beneath those two landmasses was another continent and a large island. Several islands of various sizes dotted the oceans between them.

Tristan himself was falling towards the northern part of the narrow continent, heading directly for a massive green forest. While he would easily survive the fall, it did not mean it was not be painful.

"THIS IS GONNA SUCK!" He yelled as he braced himself for the inevitable stop.

Ramsay Snow, a man desperately yearning to be a Bolton, was having the time of his life, as he ran through the woods with his trusty hounds. He was doing what he loved most, running through the wilds, hunting the most dangerous game, together with his manservant Reek and woman Myranda.

"If you get out of the forest, I'll let you live!" Ramsay yelled as he knocked an arrow, took aim with his bow, pulled the string and released it. He missed, hitting a tree instead of his intended target.

Myranda too fired an arrow, trying to hit their fleeing target. Giggling as they resumed their hunt. The hounds barking as they ran. Reek stumbling on his way, trying to keep up with the two twisted lovers.

"Tansy!" They yelled in voices sweet as honey, taunting the fleeing girl.

"Tansy, Tansy, Tansy!" Ramsay sang as the girl fell into a stream, managing to get up as the dogs closed in on her.

Myranda took aim with her bow again, biding her time, as Tansy got into view. She pulled the string back and exhaled, letting loose the arrow. This time it found its target, lodging itself in the fleeing girl's thigh. Going through and sticking out the other side.

Tansy collapsed and screamed in pain as she tried to get up, she tried to crawl away, but was stopped as her back hit the trunk of a tree. Ramsay's hounds had caught up to her and barked, baring their teeth and letting the drool drip from their jaws.

Ramsay and his entourage finally homed in on her position, with the former trying to calm his dogs down.

"Well done."

"I only wounded her," Myranda commented, looking at their sobbing victim.

"You brought her down, that's what matters," Ramsay replied as he leaned on his compound bow. "A fine shot, wasn't it Reek?"

"A fine shot, Master...My Lady..." Theon stammered, trying to gain his breath from running in his mutilated condition.

"Please..." Tansy cried out between ragged breaths, her hand going down to the arrow sticking out of her thigh.

"Oh, sweetie don't cry," Ramsay said, turning his attention towards the crying girl. "It will be over soon."

Myranda knocked another arrow and took aim. "She think's she's pretty. Let me put one through her face."

Ramsay placed a hand on her bow and pushing it away, "We have to reward the hounds love, they did all the hard work."

"Why, I did whatever you wanted..." Tansy cried out as she looked at the two "lovers" with fear in her eyes.

"But you made Myranda feel jealous," Ramsay mocked, ignoring the aforementioned woman's protest, "You can see that your presence has become a bit of a problem."

The Bolton bastard whistled at his two hunting dogs and pointed at the terrified girl, a sardonic smile on his face. "RIP HER!"

Just as Ramsay's hounds prepared to pounce on the wounded Tansy, a large yell coming from the heavens rang across the forest, gaining loudness as it bounced from tree to tree. The hounds immediately looked up, trying to find the source of the sound. Soon they did, as a falling figure blocked out the sun. Falling with such speed that his landing generated a cloud of dust, sending twigs and stone flying.

Tristan Alaire, planeswalker and self proclaimed magic man, had arrived in Westeros.

"Ow! That...hurt," Tristan groaned as he slowly got up, stretching his arms as he did. He shook his head and dusted himself off. Something had softened his landing and when he looked down it turned out to be two dogs. Rather flat dogs as of now, but dogs nonetheless. "So much for soft landings."

"YOU KILLED MY HOUNDS!"

Tristan looked at the man who had yelled in his direction, a quizzical look on his face. He was obviously more concerned about the fate of his dogs than of the fact that a man had fallen from the sky. Though in Ramsay's defense, he could have thought Tristan had just hidden in the trees.

"Sorry 'bout that, I'm a cat person."

"Shall I end him my lord?" Myranda asked, aiming her bow at Tristan.

"No love, can't you see that he's an esteemed guest and we welcome esteemed guests" Ramsay drawled, holding a hand up to stop Myranda. "State your name and business, stranger, you're in Bolton lands. My lands."

Tristan made an overdramatized shudder at the mention of Bolton. He knew one person with that name and he was one person enough. "Really, that's your first question? Not, HOLY HELL A GUY JUST FELL FROM THE SKY!" He then looked around, taking in his surroundings. "So I can guess what we have here is you hunting the most dangerous game...though our definition of dangerous is most likely quite different."

Tristan gave Theon a cursory glance, before turning his attention back on his questioner. "As for who I am...I have many names, as of the moment I am Tristan Alaire!" He did a mock bow and returned to glance at them with a smirk on his face. The man and the woman were obviously not pleased with his reply.

"But you may call me! MAGIC MAN!" Tristan bellowed and introduced himself, to his stunned audience, even the girl Tansy was silent. Though it evident that they believed he was crazy and not actually magical.

An evil glint appeared in Ramsay's eyes as he gave the man who "supposedly" fell from the sky a once over. Going over his choice of clothes and lingering at the finely crafted weapons at his side and on his back. His accent too he thought strange, obviously since the Bastard had never before heard a Welshman talk.

"Any proof behind those words...Magic Man," Ramsay commented while studying the fingernails on his right hand.

"Now, now." Tristan pointed at the wannabe Bolton with his right hand and wagged his finger at him. "Are you sure about that? Magic isn't a toy, you know."

"Oh I'm sure, show us some magic...Magic Man," Ramsay's free hand moved towards his flaying knife in a show of intimidation. Obviously it did not work on Tristan who smirked at him.

Tristan then pointed his right hand at the Bolton bastard and rubbed his thumb and index finger against each other. "Magic...away!"

Ramsay immediately looked down at himself, looking at both his arms and legs. Nothing had happened, not even his clothes had changed. At this an evil smile spread on his face "You know what I think, I think you're a liar, a liar who fancies himself a comedian. Come closer and let me carve a smile on your face."

Tristan jumped a step back, holding both arms up, one pointing at Ramsay. "Hubbub bub bub bub...why don't you take a look again."

As Ramsay stopped to look at his hands, he could feel a slight tingling sensation at his fingertips. A little smile spread on his face in the obvious anticipation of being rewarded something miraculous. Instead he let out a high pitched unmanly scream as he watched the skin on his hands peel back, slowly gaining speed, spreading across his body and turning him inside out.

"I TOLD YOU, MAGIC ISN'T A TOY!" Tristan yelled, forearms up and palms turned upwards, while Ramsay turned into a pink abomination of flesh and squishy parts.

For the first time in his life Ramsay Snow panicked at something not related to his father, he turned around and fled in the opposite direction. Away from Tristan. All in a futile attempt to stop his transformation. He failed to mind his surrounding, tripped over a tree root and fell, rolling down the steep riverbank and landed on his back.

"Looks like we have a floater!" Tristan commented, having approached the bank that Ramsay had disappeared over. The bastard of Lord Bolton had fallen on his back, his neck had landed on a jagged rock just piercing the water. He spasmed for a few moments, staring at Tristan in a mix of fear, hate and disbelief before flopping down, his head going under the water. Bubbles appeared on the river's surface until Ramsay took his last breath. Death by drowning. A terrible but fitting way to die for someone like him.

"YOU MONSTER!" Myranda screamed as she saw the body of her dead, twisted, friend with benefits.

"You're welcome!" Tristan made a grimace, pretending that her words had a serious effect on his psychey, as he slowly approached the woman aiming an arrow at him. "Way to be ungrateful, woman. I did this world a favor, have you ever heard a Bolton sing? That is not something I would wish upon even my worst enemy!"

The slow approach of the man who had just killed her lord, caused Myranda to shiver in fear and loose her arrow, sending it flying towards Tristan. The Planeswalker spun around, swatting the arrow away like a simple insect. When he came around from his spin, he had one hand on his back with the other opened towards his attacker. Sending her flying back and colliding into a nearby tree, hard enough to shatter the wood. Killing her on impact.

Tristan got up from his crouched position, motioned his hand as if he had fired a gun and blew on his index finger. He chuckled to himself as he returned to where Theon was standing and Tansy was lying - arrow still lodged in her thigh.

Tristan stopped in front of Theon who seemed to try making himself smaller than he was. The Planeswalker could obviously see that he had been both physically and psychologically tortured. He placed a hand on Theon's shoulder, in an effort to stop him from shivering.

"Looks like they really went to town on you boy," From a simple glance, one could see he was still in pain, his breath was ragged and interrupted by the occasional whimper. Tristan stroked his chin before speaking again, "What would you say to forget all that...to start a new life...as a new man...would be a pretty sweet deal, huh?"

Tristan received no response.

"Not much of a talker are you?" Tristan clicked his tongue, looking as if he considered his next action. "I have a feeling that returning you to your previous state...would cause quite a bit of a stir...hmm, am I right?"

Still not getting a response, Tristan took matters into his own hands - literally. His right hand became enveloped in white light and a smirk appeared on his face.

"Brace yourself, this is gonna hurt, healing always hurts." He then kneeled down and uppercutted Theon in the stomach while doing his best Bruce Lee imitation, sending the Greyjoy flying into the air as white light encased him. He landed a few feet away - unconscious in a golden cocoon. Tristan held his hand out and summoned it to him, minimizing it into a golden egg before putting it in his invisible inventory - in reality a pocket dimension where he kept equipment when away from his home. He then blew on his fingers and let out a snicker.

"Now, what to do with you?" Tristan pondered loudly as he approached Tansy, who had returned to sob lightly, obviously relieved at the fact that her pursuers were dead, but scared out of her mind at this strange magical man who had dispatched them. He let out a huff of air as he crouched in front of her. Tansy let out a hiss as his fingers ghosted across the arrow shaft.

"Hey, hey...relax," Tristan looked the woman in the eyes, all roguishness gone from his face and his voice suddenly stern. "You mustn't fear me."

Tansy let out a high pitched scream as Tristan took hold of the arrow, just beneath its head, and yanked it out, feathers and all. He then raised a hand and clasped it on the wound. She immediately sighed and sagged back, as the feeling of drowsiness and sinking into a hot bath fell over her. Tristan's healing spell having done its work.

"Question is...can I trust you?" Tristan said, running a hand across his jaw. The mischievous glint in his eyes returned, he raised his hands and waved his fingers at her. "Brace yourself, magic is coming."

Tansy let out a yelp, the magic spell pulling her out of her weariness. She was lifted up in the air and encased in a golden egg, just like Theon. Tristan minimized it, summoned it to his hand and put it away.

"Now let's see how this teleporter works!" Tristan exclaimed, raising a hand to the amulet the daedra had given him. "Magic...away!"

Tristan levitated a few feet above the ground and begun to spin around, gaining speed at a faster and faster rate, until dirt and undergrowth were thrown away from him. Then the sudden feeling of being sucked into a toilet, while your size shifted to accommodate the fact that you were squeezed through one, overcame him. Quite different from the usually pleasant feeling of traveling between planes or the dull sensation of traveling by map. And then his form disappeared, becoming smaller, like those tiny whirlpools that appear when you drain your bathtub, until there was nothing left.

Tristan kept screaming as he traveled through the wormhole dimension that the amulet used. Loudly cursing both Sanguine and Sheogorath. Proper teleportation devices made one feel weightless while traveling instead of having one recreate the portkey scene from Harry Potter. A bright light appeared before him and the Planeswalker continued to scream as he was shot out into the real world. He flew through the air and landed on his back on top of a rock wall, bouncing off it. He did a roll in the air and landed on his feet.

Tristan was standing amidst the ruins of a massive castle, the stone was charred and the ground muddy, even though it was summer. It might have been a majestic place, but now it was ugly, downtrodden and a place only birds would consider to relieve themselves and that would only be in passing.

"Where the hell am I now?"

"Harrenhal it's called!" Sheogorath exclaimed, appearing behind Tristan. "Quite the sorry place."

"You could have told me the amulet is a goddamn master portkey! I prefer not to feel like being sucked down a toilet!"

"I know not of what you speak of?"

"Of course you don't, but beware, I will get my revenge."

"Sure you will!" Sheogorath replied. "Now, I came to give you this."

Tristan caught the giant book that the Prince of Madness threw at him. It was bound in brown leather with its corners made of gold.

"A book?"

Sheogorath shook his head at Tristan. "Not just a book, but this world's Encyclopedia of Approximate Knowledge!"

"Guess I got some nighttime reading to do," Tristan spoke as he held it up.

"Before you do that...maybe you should consider tidying up this place, huh?"

Tristan put the book away and scratched his head. "Yeah, I'll do that..."

He got no response as the Daedric Prince had disappeared, leaving him alone in this hovel of a ruin. He shrug his shoulders and opened his hands, palms facing away from him and glowing with green light that swirled like tiny galaxies. Tristan extended his arms and levitated upwards, gaining altitude until his head touched the clouds and he could see all of Harrenhal, and its surrounding land.

With waves of his hands he tore the old ruin down, piece by pice, stone by stone, not leaving a rock behind, until all that was left was but the black spot where it once stood. Looking to the south he expanded the lake known as God's Eye, making it twice as large, before turning towards the Isle of Faces - which he too expanded. He raised a hand, lifting the island up, wresting it from the rock, until a mountain rose from the water. Moving his left hand he covered it with forest, but he left the weirwood standing at its center - at the top of the rock. On and around the mountain structure he raised a mighty city of limestone, granite, marble and red tiled roofs, all intertwined with the nature around it, using the lake to create channels for small boats to traverse - as the city stretched into the God's Eye. With a wave of his hand he carved a river out of the earth, all the way to the Quiet Isle, deep and wide enough for ships to sail through. While Tristan did this simply because it was a faster way to the Narrow Sea, he inadvertently ensured that any ship leaving the city did not have to sail past King's Landing.

Tristan yelled across the open sky, letting out a bellowing laugh as he continued on his work. Ensuring that the streets were cobbled with the finest stones and the drainage system worked, leaving no imperfections in their design. He raised his hands and tall walls rose up around the city, with majestic towers dotting them and the inner city. While Tristan did not believe dragons would be a problem, he still armed the towers with powerful ballistae. The four city gates were made of oak and iron, each connected to four bridges running from the city to the mainland. Each bridge would curve upwards at its middle, ensuring that ships could pass beneath them. Cobbled roads would then connect to the surrounding ones, that too would be turned to the finest of stone, as per Tristan's magic.

At the top of the mountain he placed the centerpiece of the city. The palace. Built with beige stone and red tiles on its domed roof. At its center, in the palace courtyard, the weirwood stood untouched, the sun shining on it from above. A sanctuary at the city's heart. Tristan spent many hours, until the sun was beginning to set in the west, before he was content with his creation. Only ending when it was a picture perfect version of the City of Dale, which he had visited long ago on a journey through Middle-Earth.

For the finishing touch he swung his arms out, spreading them like wings, sending a shockwave of green energy towards the ground where it subsequently spread. Covering the surrounding lands with fields and forests abundant.

Tristan exhaled and smiled to himself as he admired his work. The people of this world would surely shit themselves when they found a city having sprung out of the ground.

"I christen this city...Camelot!" Tristan bellowed as he descended. "Unoriginal I know, but then again! This is most likely the only city on this godforsaken continent with INDOOR PLUMBING!" Which was followed by him creating numerous springs throughout the city, flowing up through the rock. Each under enough pressure to ensure that water would flow free, from the top of the mountain to the bottom.

He landed in the large city square that would serve as its bazaar. A fountain was at its center, already spewing water. Tristan walked through the empty streets as the sun reflected against the mosaics, white marble and yellow stone. To say that Camelot was beautiful would be a disservice, it was majestic, and Tristan reveled in it. Because if there was someone who liked to show off - it was Tristan Alaire.

"This city bearing the name of Camelot..." Tristan let his hands run across the walls and trees that he passed. "It's markets will be known far and wide. Full of the bounties of vine and vale. Peaceful and prosperous...okay, maybe not peaceful, but definitely prosperous. People will flock to it, regents envy it, barbarians try and claim it, even powers beyond will yearn for it...but all will fall before its walls. As only those my equal...can take a seat within its halls."

Tristan stopped, standing before the city hall, a massive fountain reminiscent of the Trevi fountain in Rome stood before it, two stone stairways snaked around it to reach the hall. A smile came to his face. "This city, will be a beacon, not just for the people but for others like me...a gateway between the worlds...a safe haven for those who walk the cosmos...that sure will make this place livelier."

Tristan could not help but jump in giddiness at the thought of others like him visiting this realm. While he moved towards the main barracks, he thought further on this place. "Hmm...a great city will need a sigil...tsk, tsk, tsk...got it! A white tree!"

"Really a white tree...why don't model it all on Gondor?" Sanguine quizzed as the daedra appeared at Tristan's side, still using the female form from before and sipping some alcoholic beverage from a goblet with quite the provocative motive etched into it.

Tristan looked at the daedra and seemed to get a glint in his eye. "HEEEY! Now that you mention it...that's exactly what I'm going to do!"

"Tell you what, why don't you sleep on that, I'm off to King's Landing. I hear there's a nice brothel there, run by a man they call...what was it...aha, yes!" Sanguine pointed both her fingers at Tristan. "Middlefinger!"

"A fitting name for someone in that profession," Tristan commented as Sanguine set off in a run towards the city gates. "Never mind I'll ponder on this for tomorrow."

As Tristan entered the palace of Camelot he walked past the weirwood trees in the courtyard, where one could look over the entire city and its surroundings. The sun was beginning to set, but it still stood high in the sky, casting reflections on the rooftops. He walked through the halls and the round senate chamber, which was located at the palace's center. Most of the interior consisted of marble walls and granite floors, only changing to more pleasant material such as wood, carpets and sand or limestone when one reached the official and private areas. Open areas and those that would be used frequently, such as the palace barracks were made solely out of stone.

Tristan finally reached the upper wing, located on the second floor, and allowed fors a view of the entire east side of the city. His quarters were large and spacious with a finely made bed covered in pillows and sheets of silk. A large balcony stood in front of him with the doors open. A massive wooden chest stood in front of his bed and a large desk made of fine wood was located adjacent to it. There was also a fireplace with a couch a table and two chairs in front of it. A wardrobe was located at the far end of the left wall, beside the bed and a small table was at the right of it. Last but not least, a large mirror stood beside the wardrobe.

"Nice," Tristan said out loud, he had a good idea that all the palace's personal quarters were almost identical, the only difference being location. The sun was setting and with nothing else to do, the Planeswalker snapped his fingers and caused every light in the palace to ignite. He took off his belts and placed Andúril and his spear on the low table in front of the fireplace that crackled as the fire had taken hold of the wooden logs. He removed his hidden blade bracers and threw them on one of the reclining chairs, before taking a seat in the sofa - putting his feet on the table as he kicked his boots off.

"Now let's see what you can tell me," Tristan mumbled as he pulled forth the Encyclopedia of Approximate Knowledge from hammerspace and began to read.

He read about the Children of the Forest, when this world still had magic and of their war with the First Men who arrived from Essos. He read of the Age of Heroes that followed the pact of peace. About the Long Night where darkness reigned for a generation and an endless winter descended upon Westeros like a curtain of ice. Of the invasion of the Others from the Land of Always Winter and the Battle for the Dawn that ended it. The building of the Wall by Bob the Builder...

"Wait that can't be right?" Tristan said out loud. He rolled his eyes and recommenced his study.

He read of how the first commander of the Night's Watch was seduced by an Other woman and declared himself the Night's King, and how he rose in rebellion against his former kin. His downfall came as the Starks of Winterfell joined forces with Jormun the King-beyond-the-Wall and defeated the Night's King, restoring honor to the Watch.

Tristan then read of how the Andals invaded Westeros, much like the First Men did millennia ago and how they slowly conquered the continent. With only the North remaining secure, but at the cost of the Children who slowly withdrew to their forests and north of the Wall.

He read about the Age of Valyria and how the ancient Freehold managed to find and tame dragons. Tristan's couldn't help laughing at that. If only they knew what a true dragon was. Hell he had been close to one during his time as a Dragon Knight of Rivellon and he once knew a particularly smug one from Middle-Earth. Last of course there was always Nicol Bolas, the dragon above all dragons and a real asshole to boot.

He continued reading about the rise of Valyria, how they slowly conquered Essos with their dragons and the settling of the Rhoynish in Dorne - where the warrior-queen Nymeria married a lord named Mors Mattel...

"Definitely approximate knowledge..."

Tristan shook his head, summoning a glass of water and took a swill. He quickly skimmed over the creation of Braavos and its current role in the world as well as the Doom of Valyria. A classic tale of man growing proud and then struck down because of it. The formation of the Seven Kingdoms he also only gave a cursory glance.

He paid more attention to the information regarding the Targaryen Dynasty. How they were but a minor noble family that rose to prominence and conquered a continent. Then followed by their slow descend into madness, eventual decline and defeat.

Now he finally reached the interesting parts or relevant parts. The rebellion against the Targaryens, led by a man named Bob who would later be crowned king and a man named Eddy the Stork.

A Rebellion started with an atrocity and ended with a massacre. The battle that would define the war was fought at the trident where Rhaegar Targaryen was killed. The Lancasters...Lancashires...Lannisters? Would apparently pretend to march for the Mad King Aerys, but instead they turned against him and sacked King's Landing. The King's own bodyguard Jimmy would later stab him in the back. Tristan shook his head at the following events and the horrors these Lannisters were guilty of.

"If you're going to be evil, at least do it right and ensure no one is left to oppose you..." Tristan tsked, "basic evil overlord rules."

All in all it ended with Bobby B being declared king and married to a woman named Seersee? Curse-i. Anyway the brutal murder of Elia and her children Aegon and Rhaenys caused a rift between Neddard the Stark and Bob the King. The former would then return to Winterfell with a "bastard" son named Jon and the two Targaryen children were whisked away to the Free Cities.

A few years later the Ironborn would rebel and they would get their ass kicked, ending with Theon Grey-something being sent to live with the Storks. All the while a Magister named Illyrio took care of the two surviving Targaryen children in Pentos.

Tristan skimmed over current events. The death of Bobby B due to a "hunting accident", the execution of Eddy on behest of the King, Jeff...Geoff...whatever and the War of the Five Kings that followed as well as some information on troubles brewing beyond the Wall and the slow rise of the Targaryen girl. All useless information he would forget anyway.

The Encyclopedia of Approximate Knowledge definitely lived up to its name, while it did give some information, it was usually quite distorted, full of spelling mistakes regarding names and not that informative when it came to historical events.

Tristan let out a yawn as he flipped a page, reaching the last subject - the current ruling houses.

There was House Stork, Stalk, Starch...or something. Rulers of the North. Their motto - "Cold Weather Approaches..."

House Greyjoy whose motto was - "We Don't Contribute to Agriculture." Their sigil was a kraken and they worshipped a sea deity called the Drowned God with the saying, "What is dead may never die."

Tristan chuckled at that and reminded himself to ask Cthulhu about this when he came by for dinner. Of course it would be too spicy for Yog Sothoth, but such is the cooking skills of eldritch abominations.

Then there were the Riverlands ruled by house Tully, which Tristan only gave a glance, the only interesting thing to him was that the city he had built was located there. The Vale too and house Arryn got the same treatment.

The Westerlands were ruled by the Lamisters or Lancashires or Lancasters, the book wasn't really specific on their name. Their motto, Tristan considered boring.

"Hear Me Roar...seriously?" Tristan liked the unofficial one much better. "We Don't Dick Around When it Comes to Money."

Tristan skipped the part about the Crownlands and jumped straight to the Reach, ruled by house Tyrell. Another house with a boring motto, but at least it was not as unoriginal as the previous one.

Then there were the Stormlands owned by house Barton...

"Is that right?" Tristan mumbled.

Their motto was - "We Get Really Angry Sometimes."

Last but not least there was Dorne, the southernmost part of Westeros, ruled by house Mattel. Their motto though, seriously alluded to a less innocent brand of toys.

"Unbowed, Unbent, Unbroken...was that a euphemism? With a capital called Sunspear, could it be anything but."

"Hell, their sigil is a spear piercing a star!" Tristan shook his head as he got up, throwing the book into his fire. The sun had set and the light within the palace cast long shadows through the halls as Tristan walked towards the two other quarters on the same floor.

He opened the door to one room and pulled the golden egg, containing Theon, from his hammerspace inventory. He threw it on the bed, balled his hand into a fist and then opened it. Releasing Theon from his healing pod, he was asleep but fully healed, physically and mentally. Mostly though, the ordeal he had been put through by the Bolton bastard would still leave some psychological scars that only he could overcome.

Tristan closed the door and went to the next room. Took the egg containing the girl Tansy and threw it on the bed, doing the same action as before. She too was sound asleep.

With all not said but done, he went to his own room, undressed and promptly fell down on his bed. Asleep before hitting the sheets.

**Next Day  
**Tristan woke early in the morning and began expanding the city to reach into the mountain. Carving out a massive treasure chamber beneath the palace, filling it with precious gems and metals that he had gathered on his adventures. Last he ensured that the underground granaries and storage areas were booming with grain, dried food and beverages.

He then walked down to the main barracks, located at the foot of the palace. It was large enough to support two legions of ten thousand men.

"I need soldiers," Tristan said as he walked through the building and into the armory. A mischievous smile plastered on his face. He snapped his fingers, placing fine weapons on every rack, with arrows in every chest, and Gondorian armor on full display.

When it came to soldiers, Tristan took a note from the Romans, deciding that when the population was booming. The army would be professional. But at the moment, he needed a standing force to protect Camelot when he was gone. So he went to the fields outside the city. Standing on a hill looking over it. His back facing the city.

He took a deep breath and raised his hands, enveloping them in black smoke, tapping into his black mana, slowly materializing the army he had used a lifetime ago. A personal favorite of his whenever he wanted to play conqueror in a world of magic. Thousands of black smoky pillars appeared on the grassy fields before Tristan.

Eyes as dark as night, teeth filed to fangs. They were the Immortals, elite warriors of the Persian Empire itself...well the 300 version at least. Could you fault Tristan for using them? They looked damn cool, certainly more than the speedo wearing Greeks.

He clad them in their traditional black clothes, steel armor and silver masks that shone bright under the sun. They would act exactly like their fictional counterparts, never disobeying a command, but also never going beyond what they were ordered to do. They would be Tristan's personal army of ferocious killing machines. The deadliest force in all of Westeros. An army of ninja zombies wearing samurai masks and katanas.

Last he created the officers who would lead the army if the city came under attack. Based on the Immortals from the even dumber sequel - and while he did not like that one - the Immortals did not lose their cool factor in Tristan's eyes.

The officers were not clad in grey steel armor, but black segmented ones. Instead of masks they wore helmets. The part covering their face still silver and Samurai like in design, but the rest was blackened with ridges on top - the inside of course was leather. Three long ponytails of dark braided horsehair hang from the back of the helmet, reaching to just above the small of the back. He made a thousand and ten of them, each commanding a century.

With the last ten serving as his praetorian guard.

They were the ultimate soldiers, never needing sleep, never needing food. They would stand vigil until death, If in all likeliness it would fall upon them.

"IMMORTALS!" Tristan bellowed, grinning wildly.

The Immortals turned towards him and moved into formation with such discipline that the sound of eleven thousand boots rang across the fields. The officers at the front, regulars at the back, all standing in perfect squares.

"YOU ARE MY WARRIORS, ULTIMATE BADASSES OF THE HOUSE...OF...BADASSDOM! AND YOU WILL KICK ASS FOR THE REALM...OF..." Tristan snapped his fingers a few times trying to come up with a name fast. "AVALON!" he then rose his hands and yelled. "AS OF THE MOMENT, YOU WILL PROTECT THESE LANDS, KILL ANYONE WHO ATTACKS YOU, ANYONE THAT PREYS ON THE WEAK AND DEFENSELESS! SHOW! NO! MERCY!"

With that, Tristan turned around and walked back towards Camelot. His eleven thousand Immortals following in perfect formation, as they crossed the eastern bridge.

**Camelot Palace  
**A soft breeze came through the open windows and woke Theon as it blew across his face. The first thing he felt was lying on something soft. His clothes felt different too, not the damp rotten rags he had grown used to, but finely made cotton. Brown pants and a white shirt. For the first time in a long while he felt content. It was like a veil that had blocked his vision, had finally been lifted. He felt alive.

Theon shot up quickly, what he found was a large bedroom with walls of stone, floor made of oak and an unlit chandelier hang from the ceiling. The windows to his left as well as the doors to the balcony were open and the wind caused the curtains to flutter. His bed too was exquisite and made of finely carded wood with linen of white silk. The mattress was so soft it felt like floating in water.

Was this a trick, another game of Ramsay's? The disowned Greyjoy heir did not know, but he feared the worst. Quickly looking around he saw nothing that could be used as a weapon.

That was when the greatest surprise hit him. He looked at his hands. All his fingers were there and they bore no evidence of having been flayed. The same with his feet and the rest of his body. Then to check on the last thing. Theon looked around, making sure that no one was there. Slowly he snaked his hands under the waistband of his pants and moved downwards. He let out a sigh and fell back. All was there.

"No you're not dreaming."

Theon rose quickly at the sudden voice. Before him in an armchair sat a handsome looking man. He had black hair and a pair of green eyes that seemed to shine slightly. His right leg was pulled up, placed underneath his left. A fine sword within a black leather scabbard with silver ends rested on his thighs. His left hand on the scabbard, his right placed at the pommel. His clothes while familiar also looked more refined than anything he had seen before.

"Who, where am I, what happened, who are you?"

"Relax buddy," Tristan got up and sent Theon a crooked smile. "You're in the city of Camelot, in the realm of Avalon."

"I've...never heard of such a place..." Theon replied, still wary of this stranger who spoke with an accent he had never heard before, and half expecting Ramsay to burst in, blowing his horn.

"Really? How can you not have heard of Camelot, last time I checked it was right here!"

Theon simply stared at the stranger who was overly fond of large gestures.

"By the way. If you're wondering 'bout your friend, don't, he's dead." Tristan informed as he fastened Andúril to his left side. The Silverspear already on his back. "Bad case of inside out syndrome."

The former Greyjoy heir let out a sigh of relief, though still wary of the stranger.

"You can call me Tristan Alaire and for the moment, I rule this city." the Planeswalker said, holding his hand out. Theon shook it and got out of bed. "Now, if you won't mind, I got another guest, care to join me?"

"Yes, I'll like that," Theon replied, putting on a pair of socks that had been laid out for him and slipped his feet into a pair of leather boots.

"So, can I call you Alfred? You look like an Alfred to me," Tristan asked as they neared the door.

"Theon Greyjoy, that's my name...always has been," Theon replied, in a low voice.

"Sure thing Alfred," Tristan said with a laugh, patting him on the back and opened the door.

Theon almost soiled himself as two large men clad in black stood vigil on the left and right side of the door. Their masks had ridges on top and shone like silver. He could not see their faces through the mouth and eye holes, only darkness.

"Chill man, these are my honor guard, THE IMMORTALS!" Tristan informed, snapping his fingers to dismiss them. They simply grunted and went down the corridor. Tristan then motioned for the door next to Theon's room and opened it.

They were greeted by a shriek as Tansy jumped away from the dressing table she had been studying, obviously startled by the abrupt entrance. She was dressed in a white flowery dress, her barley colored hair pulled up in a loose bun. She had nary a scratch on her and looked as if she had just stepped out of a bath. No evidence of her having fled for her life.

"GOOD MORNING LITTLE FLOWER!" Tristan hollered, as he and Theon entered. The latter eyeing the blonde girl with suspicion, he had a slight memory of seeing her at the Dreadfort when he had been Reek.

Reek, the memories of being that - thing. Still lay dormant in his mind. Tristan had healed his body and his psyche, but only slightly. The memories of his ordeal at the hands of Roose Bolton's bastard were still fresh.

"There's nothing to fear Alfred, she's friendly," Tristan spoke. "You're friendly right?"

"Yes..." Tansy replied sheepishly. "My...my Lord."

"Oh pish posh, there are no lord here, it's just TRISTAN ALAIRE!" Tristan then went up to her and pulled her dress up to look at her leg. Theon quickly turned in another direction. "I see your leg has healed nicely...together with whatever scars you might have had before. As for my name, you can just call me Tristan."

Tansy replied with a stammer and quickly pulled her dress down, both shocked and embarrassed from Tristan's action. "I'll...thank you Tristan."

"All's well that ends well, right!" Tristan replied, a large smile on his face as he steered her towards Theon. "Now come, I want to show you my city!"

"If you don't mind me asking...Tristan, where exactly are we?"

"Don't tell me you too haven't heard of Camelot, capital of the Realm of Avalon!" Tristan put an arm around Tansy and Theon as he pulled them down the corridor towards the palace entrance.

During the two hours between Tristan returning to the city with his Immortals and sending some of them out to patrol the lands, several inter-dimensional travelers had appeared through the gateway at the City Hall. Already beginning to set up shop in Camelot. The mighty city had experienced a growth spurt from three to one thousand and still climbing. Only waiting for the people of Westeros to move in.

The only new resident of note was a red haired dwarf berserker named Oghren, who had decided to make the city tavern his new home, and of course was an old acquaintance of Tristan.

Theon sent Tansy a look of befuddlement as Tristan acted lambasted at them never having heard of Camelot. But as they walked out on the terrace overlooking the city, they could only gape at its magnificence and beauty. Tall towers and stone buildings with red roofs running all the way to the lake, with the city stretching further out. A city straight out of fairytales.

"This, this is the God's Eye?" Theon exclaimed.

"No this is Avalon!"

"If this is the God's Eye where's Harrenhal?" Tansy questioned as Tristan led them down one of the two stairways running in a half circle around the terrace, motioning them towards the city's main road.

"Come on, enough with the questions, enjoy life a little!" Tristan said, enthusiasm evident in his entire being. Tightening his grip around his two companion's shoulders. He snapped his fingers and spoke as his head was between theirs, while the sound of instruments slowly gained volume as other dimensional travelers began surrounding them. "You know cause..."

_Everything is great everything is grand  
__I got the whole wide world in the palm of my hand  
__Everything is perfect it's falling into place  
__I cant seem to wipe this smile off my face  
__Life's a happy song when there's someone by my side to sing along_

And such was it that Theon and Tansy were the first Westerosi introduced to the magnificence of Muppet song flashmob?

_When you're alone life can be a little rough  
__It makes you feel like you're three foot tall  
__When its just you well times can be tough  
__When there's no one there to catch your fall_

Tristan released the Westerosi from his grip and marched in front of them, through the city plaza, together with the other dimension traveling citizens.

_Everything is great everything is grand  
__I got the whole wide world in the palm of my hand  
__Everything is perfect it's falling into place  
__I can't seem to wipe this smile off my face_

Dancing through the streets with his two newfound "friends" in tow, as more and more townspeople joined in. Much to Theon and Tansy's surprise. They passed the red haired dwarf Oghren on the way, who simply shook his head and went inside. Emptying his flagon of mead on the way.

_Life smells like a rose with someone to paint  
__With someone to pose  
__Life's a piece of cake with someone to pedal  
__Someone to brake  
__Life is full of glee with someone to saw  
__And someone to see  
__Life's a happy song when there's someone by my side to sing along_

And so the citizens of Camelot continued for the next several minutes and even the Westerosi could not help but smile. Ass for the first time in forever. They finally felt joy.

_I've got everything that I need  
__Right in front of me  
__Nothing's stopping me  
__Nothing that I can't be  
__With you right here next to me..._

* * *

First chapter and yes maybe I should not have Tristan singing and shit, but I listened to the soundtrack from The Muppets (2011) and I thought that two characters who had been through so much shit needed something cheerful.

When it comes to Tristan's looks, you can imagine it for yourself. I like to think of Luke Evans, who I had hoped would be in the series as Oberyn Martell, but hey, you can't have everything.

This story largely grew out of boredom as I wait for season 5 and because I thought it would be funny if a character appeared that would ruin everything just by mere presence - appeared in GoT.

Hope you enjoyed this first chapter, am already writing the next one, so please read and review. Cause reviews help me write more. :-D

And please review as a user, so I can reply. I can't do that if you're just a guest.


	2. Chapter 2: Old Friends and New

Second chapter and after having read through the first one a few times I've decided to rewrite it to be a little more serious. Gone are mood swings of Tristan Alaire.

He is now more of a smartass than a trickster and while he still sings, I promise to cut down on the musical numbers. Even if I only had one. Together with overt popculture references. Future references will be more hidden and I'm willing to reveal them if you ask.

I highly suggest you go back and read the first chapter as I've made major revisions to the dialogue and some minor details. Glamdring has been changed with Andúril for example and Sheogorath does not talk like Mickey Mouse anymore.

Please R&amp;R, and if you wish to, come with suggestions of how events will come to change.

**The House of Badassdom  
****Chapter 2: Old Friends and New**

**The Riverlands  
**Black Walder Frey, son of Walder Frey, was running for his life through the forest. He was being hunted. Demons were chasing him, demons clad in black and silver, with no face but darkness beneath their masks. Moving faster than anything he had ever seen, wielding two swords and his comrades in half.

"Oh god those masks," Black Walder thought, a shudder of fear running down his spine.

It had been a month ago when they had heard tales of the God's Eye overflowing and a city rising from its waters. Protected by demons in black. They had laughed as they killed the man who told them this tale. Now it did not seem that funny. They had seen the ity on the lake, its beauty, simply mesmerizing. In a move of foolishness they had tried to sack its lands and take the city.

Overconfidence had clouded their minds. They had believed their reputation would precede them and strike fear into the minds and hearts of its people. But they were wrong.

It happened as they cleared the forest and moved towards the northern bridge. A dozen demons jumped out at them wielding narrow swords in each hand. They believed the odds were in their favor, but the demons had cut through a hundred of them like farmers reaping their crops. Hardened soldiers of the Twins were slaughtered like mere cattle. The demons slaying them one by one without receiving a scratch.

They had gotten into formation and managed to hold them back for a few minutes. Until a larger demon wearing black armor and a mask with ridges appeared. It was taller than the others, standing at two meters, its size further accentuated by the armor. Most likely the leader.

It stormed into their ranks with such ferocity that his men fell into disarray. The man to Walder's left was cut in three as two blades descended on his clavicles. Another man was kicked hard enough to send him flying, even though he was in full plate.

Some men tried to fire their crossbow at their enemy but each bolt was either dodged or blocked by their swords. Black Walder had been more lucky than his comrades and managed block a few blows from an Immortal. But he lost all will to fight when he managed to knock its mask off. The face of his darkest nightmares stared back at him, roaring in rage as it bared its teeth and Walder pissed himself.

He had managed to flee in the chaos. Valuing his life more than that of his comrades, the men he had sung and recounted tales with. The men he had committed atrocities with. Atrocities no man, woman or child deserved upon them. In the deep recess of his mind he knew that this was divine retribution for his crimes.

Black Walder looked over his shoulder and let out a laugh. No one was following him. His victory was short lived as a hand shot out from a tree he ran past, grabbing him by the head and lifted him up. He came face to face with the black armored demon leader, who simply looked at him with its black eyes. The mask hiding all emotions.

The Frey tried to pry himself free, but the Immortal's grip was too strong, it kept holding him off ground and slowly tightened its grip. He let out a scream as five gloved fingers dug into his skull, drawing blood. Black Walder's last few moments were not spent with his life flashing before his eyes, but with indescribable pain as the Immortal slowly clenched its fist.

A cracking sound could be heard as the Immortal crushed his skull. The Frey fell to the forest floor, his head unrecognizable as it had been turned to mush. His killer let out a dark laugh and walked away.

**Riverrun  
**Brynden Tully better known as the Blackfish sat in the dining hall of Riverrun He was clad in mud-caked black clothes with matching scale armor, a sword on his side and a bowl of stew before him. Weariness was evident on his face. He had been holding Riverrun against a continuous siege from the Freys. Ever since his family and bannermen were murdered. Ever since Walder Frey broke the most sacred of hospitalities.

The memories of the so called Red Wedding still fresh in his mind. He had been the only survivor of that dreadful night. Most of the river lords had surrendered to the Iron Throne and the Tully's had been stripped of their titles. With his brother rotting in a dungeon at the Twins, Brynden was the last to defy the Lannisters and their lackeys, the Freys and the Boltons.

The Blackfish held back the desire to spit, instead refocusing on his late breakfast. Once he could have called upon his bannermen and raised an army of forty-five thousand. Now, only his most loyal men remained. They had been a thousand at the beginning, but holding a castle besieged from all sides had taken its toll. Now they were but four hundred, tired and hungry. Morale was at an all time low. Only time would tell when they would break.

That was when his mind wandered to a flicker of light in these dark times. Like most of those inhabiting the Riverlands he had heard the same tales, obviously dismissing them as wishful thinking and hearsay. Still it would explain the sudden emigration of several commoners from their former homes. He was unable to verify these rumors of a city rising from the God's Eye, as he and his men were holed up in the castle.

Brynden prayed to the gods that whoever lived in that city would help them. What he could verify though, during the times he managed to sneak out, was that previously muddy roads had turned into cobblestone overnight and a river had suddenly appeared. Flowing from the God's Eye to the Quiet Isle. A bridge too had appeared where the river crossed the King's Road.

And then there were the stories. Stories of demons with faces of silver coming out of the forests to kill any man preying upon the weak and disappearing just as swiftly as they appeared. At first he had dismissed those tales, chalking it up to actions by the Brotherhood Without Banners. But then the tales told of small armies patrolling the roads and he knew it could not be the Brotherhood's doing. They tended to keep to the woods and had nary the manpower for full scale battles. Adding to the veracity of those rumors was the fact that several contingents men of were being pulled from the army besieging them.

"Speaking of the Brotherhood," The hardened soldier thought. They seemed to have disappeared from the face of Westeros. Had they been killed or did they simply lose the will to fight? Brynden doubted the latter. Their numbers had most likely dwindled until they were unable to keep their operations running.

The Blackfish sighed as he got up, pushing his empty bowl away. He fastened his sword to his side and began to move out, greeting his men on the way. He planned to sneak out once again. It had to be during the night. He would swim beneath the Water Gate's portcullis and he prayed that if he could reach this City on the Lake. They would help him liberate the Riverlands and bring justice upon his family's killers.

**Riverlands Forest Road  
**It had been around a month since Tristan created Avalon together with Camelot or the City on the Lake as the small folk liked to call it, and its population had already grown from a thousand to five times that size. Farmers, traders, bakers. People of all stations of life had taken up residence in the city and more were arriving. Having heard tales of this safe haven in the ongoing storm.

Soldiers too had arrived, survivors of what the people called the Red Wedding. All wishing to a new cause once again or live the rest of their days in peace.

Tristan found great amusement in how each man wore the Gondorian armor - he had created - with pride. Obviously not used to state supplied arms. They told him that only the richest of noble houses could afford that. Another surprise to them was that in Avalon, soldiery was a full time occupation.

Still, they were trained men and he together with Theon and the Immortals had managed to drill them quite well in the last month. They would fight in tight infantry formations, supported by archers and cavalry. Though not cavalry at the moment. Their armament consisted of chainmail beneath plate armor and longswords complimented by black tower shields. A white tree adorned on their breastplates and shields. Their helmets too had wings engraved on each side. All in all, perfect copies of the soldiers of Gondor.

Oh, Gondor such a beautiful place. Tristan promised himself that he would visit it again when he was done with this world.

Speaking of Theon or Alfred as Tristan continued to call him. The Greyjoy had obviously taken great joy in reclaiming his martial prowess and had personally overseen the training of the archers. But Tristan knew he was still plagued by nightmares. His screams ringing through the palace halls during the night.

Tansy too had her fair share of personal demons as she too was subject to the same nightmares. Both of them though kept their distance to each other, memories of what had transpired still fresh and only time would tell if they could overcome their past together. Tristan usually lend himself to them as someone they could talk to, otherwise deciding that inner demons, were best left to themselves to get over. Instead opting to walk the city and mingle with the other dimensional travelers who had set up shop in Camelot. He was especially fond of Oghren whom he visited often at the tavern.

The dwarf berserker too, had taken to visit the barracks and spend his time laughing at the new recruits during training. As for the Immortals, they stood vigil on the city walls and scared the living daylights out of any would be criminal.

Right now Tristan stood together with two hundred Legionaries of Avalon. Though unlike them he was clad in his usual 18th century assassin robes. He had moved out with these two centuries, to show them how a real battle was fought and now they would, as an army outnumbering them three to one was descending upon them from the forest surrounding the road they stood on. Carrying banners picturing three black dogs.

This was what his Immortals had been up to for some time, provoking nearby hostile forces until they, like a rabid dog, lashed out against the nearest perceived threat with little to no planning.

"FORM UP, THREE LINES, SHIELDS TIGHT, SWORDS STEADY!" Tristan yelled, a maniacal smile on his face. "OGHREN PROTECT THE LEFT FLANK! ALFRED THE RIGHT!"

"Just like old times, right Warden Commander?" Oghren spoke as he readied his double-bladed axe.

"That was a long time ago Oghren, but it was fun, now go!" Tristan replied earning a harsh laugh from the berserker, his dwarves armor clanking softly as he walked to his post.

"Tristan!" Theon said, handing him his shield. "No magic this time?"

"That's hardly sporting is it?" The Planeswalker laughed. "Besides, I got two dozen Immortals in reserve if we need backup."

Theon nodded and walked to his men. "ARCHERS AIM FOR THEIR FLANKS MAKE THEM CLUSTER!" He yelled, drawing his own bow. A fine brown Gondorian longbow, same as the other archers. Theon led a unit of rangers and dressed like the Ithilien Rangers whom Tristan had modeled them after.

Tristan placed himself at the middle of the formation and drew Andúril. He had left his spear at the palace.

"SHIELDS FRONT!" the Planeswalker ordered. The sound of the first line turning their tower shields, rang through the forest. "SWORDS OUT!"

The ringing of swords being drawn filled Tristan's ears as the enemy descended upon them. Unlike the Lannister troops, the Mountain's men were a disorganized bunch, used to fight by rushing their enemies. No wonder they were called the Lannisters' personal attack dogs.

"FIRE!" Theon yelled as the forty rangers released their arrows, raining death upon the descending men, some falling and caused others to stumble over them.

"PREPARE FOR GLORIOUS COMBAT!" Tristan yelled as the enemy slammed into the line of legionaries. Trying to push them back.

"THAT THE BEST YOU CAN DO!" One legionary yelled.

The men of House Clegane managed to push them back two feet before they were stopped. Deathly silence lasted for a few seconds.

"NOW!" Tristan hollered as the first line pushed their shield forward. Causing the enemy soldiers to stagger. In that moment of disorientation, the legionaries put their swords to use, slashing and stabbing the first line of attackers. Before order was established, the shield wall was reformed.

"PUSH!" Tristan yelled as the men took one step forward. Bracing themselves against the counter attack. Holding them in place before shoving them back and attacking. Reforming the shield wall before the enemy could retaliate.

Enemy soldiers fell before them like flies as they moved forward, pace by pace they cut them down. Discipline, heavy armor and shields winning out against the leather and mail armored men of House Clegane.

"FIRE!" Theon yelled showering the enemy on the right with arrows. Making sure they could not flank them from that position.

Oghren laughed with joy as he separated a man's lower intestines from the rest of his body. Throwing himself into enemy ranks, swinging his double-bladed axe with abandon. At one point he spun around, managing to take down every hostile who had surrounded him.

"COME ON! DON'T HAVE THE GUTS!?" He yelled as the legionaries with him caught up.

"REFORM THE LINE!" Tristan yelled as the next wave came upon them. He blew his whistle and the men at the front changed place with those behind them. Moving to the back of the formation.

"BRACE!" He yelled as the next wave of soldiers crashed into the shield wall with no more success than their dead brothers in arms. Trying to smash through the legionaries shield wall with their weapons. Yet still heavy armor won out as all attacks lucky enough to breach the defenses were deflected agains the plate and mail.

"NOW!" Tristan ordered. The first line raised their shields, striking their attackers and cut them down, before reforming the wall. Once again.

Theon had joined the contingent of soldiers defending the right flank, handing command of the auxiliaries to an officer. He wielded a war hammer in his left hand and a falchion in the other.

He slashed an attacker's stomach with his sword, spun around and hit him on the back of the head with the hammer. Then turning to the next. Blocking a strike with both hammer and sword. Headbutting the unfortunate soldier, before driving the hammer's spike into his face.

He took down another man with a double strike, causing him fall on his back. Theon ended his life with a slash across the face. He looked up just in time to see another Clegane soldier running towards him. Screaming with weapon ready to strike.

He never reached his intended target as an arrow pierced his eye and he fell over like a sack of potatoes.

Theon looked around quickly, trying to gauge the situation as several men clad in brown and green ran out of the forest and attacked the flanks of the Mountain's men.

"IT'S THE BROTHERHOOD!" Someone yelled, just as a man wielding a flaming sword joined the fray.

Tristan laughed, raising his shield to block a strike, simultaneously stabbing his attacker before lowering it. Repeating the action with his men. He blew his whistle again and the first line of men were replace with the second.

His legionaries working together like a well oiled machine. The Brotherhood Without Banners were a pleasant surprise, but Tristan could see that they fought like a disorganized group.

"Still they made a wondrous mess of things. Brave amateurs...they do their part," Tristan mused, he was definitely having a good day.

But his mood was going to get even better as everything went silent. The Clegane soldiers pulled back and began to cheer. The Brotherhood too regrouped. Some of them had fear etched on their faces. That was when he appeared at the top of the hill. A massive rider on a black steed.

"IT'S CLEGANE!" One yelled as the mountain of a man clad in black armor got off his horse and pulled his great sword on the way. His men held back, their morale lifted at his presence. Sure that the tide of battle had turned.

Two months ago the legionaries would likely have relieved themselves in their pants at the sight of the Mountain striding towards them. Tristan's training had made sure such a thing would not happen. Yet still, the men did waver.

Tristan held his arms stretched out to the sides, signaling for them not to follow and left the formation, walking towards Gregor Clegane. His shield in one hand and Andúril in the other.

"So this is how it's going to be?" Tristan stated as they circled each other. One could easily hear the sound of the Mountain's breathing behind his helmet. "Combat by Champion."

Clegane towered over him, eight feet tall, with a sword five foot long. Swinging it with relative ease. They stopped walking in a circle and the Mountain attacked.

With a great swing his sword read towards Tristan's left. He quickly raised his shield, blocking the strike, but was sent flying back several feet. Landing on his ass in front of his legionaries.

"I bet on the Commander," Oghren said, having moved to the front and spoke to Thoros of Myr. Who simply looked down at the dwarf with a raised eyebrow.

Dwarves like Oghren, looked nothing like the ones the people of Westeros were familiar with. Looking like small yet stocky humans, with an average height between four and five feet, some could get as tall as five foot three. Oghren himself was that height, exceptionally tall for a dwarf

"Sure thing little man, a round of ale for everyone," the red priest replied, earning a harsh laugh from the Dwarf.

Tristan threw his dented shield away as he got up. He spat and held Andúril with both hands while approaching his opponent.

"You're big," he stated, joy evident on his face. "Fought bigger."

Letting out a yell, Tristan ran towards his opponent, jumped over his sword with a vertical twist and used it as a stepping stone when it drove into the ground. His knee colliding with Gregor's armored face. Hard enough to knock his helmet off. When he landed, Tristan quickly turned around and stomped Clegane in the back of the knee, making him kneel.

Gregor spun around before Tristan could drive his sword through his unprotected head and deflected the thrust. His armored fist slamming into Tristan's stomach, sending him into the air. He let out a groan as he crashed into a tree, back first.

For any normal man, he would have been dead before leaving the ground, but Tristan was no mere man. He got up and shook his head, before jumping back into action.

"Are we having fun yet?" the Planeswalker laughed, spitting out some blood as he danced around the giant. Both sides cheering.

The Mountain's voice was a gravelly baritone, reminiscent of a glacier grinding against rock. "The time of my life!"

Tristan ducked, avoiding a thrust by Gregor's sword, spun around beneath it and got up. Hitting him in the sternum with the pommel of Andúril, hard enough to bend the breastplate. Sending the Mountain back a few steps. To the latter's credit though, he showed no surprise at this and snarled at his opponent.

As they clashed again, Tristan stepped aside, dodging a downwards slash and scaled the larger man. Grabbing Clegane's right shoulder, mid-jump, Tristan dropped Andúril and opened his right hand. Unleashing his hidden blade. His opponents eyes seemed to widen at this, but acted quickly. He caught Tristan by the collar and threw him over his shoulder, slamming him into the ground.

Tristan barely managed to roll away as an armored boot descended upon his face, he caught Andúril on the way and drove it upwards. Both he and Clegane let out a battle cry as their blades connected. Tristan sword proved its worth and cleaved the Mountain's greatsword in half. Tristan threw himself away as to not be hits by the other half. Before he managed to get up. Gregor had spun his broken sword around and prepared to drive it through the Planeswalker.

"COMMANDER!" Oghren yelled running onto the empty battlefield, axe ready. Using a dead body as a stepping stone, he jumped and soared through the air, axe raised above his head.

Clegane turned his head towards the screaming warrior, just in time for Oghren's axe to descend upon his forearms. Knocking his sword away and allowing Tristan to get out of reach.

"IMMORTALS!" Tristan hollered, getting up from his crouched position in front of his legionaries.

The Immortals appeared behind the legionaries, coming from the forest and running between the archers, before jumping over the tight formation of legionaries. Standing side by side with Tristan.

"KILL THEM ALL!" Clegane roared as Oghren managed to drive him back, slashing and thrusting wildly with his axe.

The berserker was forced to focus his onslaught elsewhere as the Mountain's men descended from the hill.

"LEGIONARIES. HOLD THE LINE!" Tristan ordered, holding his sword up with both hands. Blade at a horizontal angle. "IMMORTALS. CHARGE!"

Tristan together with his two dozen Immortals ran into the onrushing army, soon joined by the Brotherhood Without Banners. One Immortal crouched down, grabbing a man by the legs and threw him over his shoulder, making him land on his head. Another dropkicked an armored opponent making him fall and receive two deadly blades to the throat.

"ARCHERS AIM FOR THE FLANKS!" Theon yelled, having rejoined the auxiliaries. "FIRE AT WILL."

Oghren blocked two blows from an opponent, letting his armor do the rest. He made a slash with his axe, hitting the man at the back of the knee, and with a swift move as he fell backwards. Oghren drove the axe head into the man's chest - mid-fall.

Tristan twirled Andúril around, deflected blows from two different soldiers before driving it down on his right attacker's helmet. Cutting his face in half. He extended his left hand and released his hidden blade. Catching his other attacker by the throat, lifting him up as he gurgled and drowned in his blood. As he kicked the dead soldier away, Tristan pulled out his whistle and signaled his men.

"LEGIONARIES, ADVANCE!" The sound of two hundred boots marching forward echoed through the forest, even blocking out the screams of dying men and metal against metal.

Seeing his men being cut down as they failed to break through the advancing soldiers, the Brotherhood causing disarray among their ranks and the silver masked soldiers cutting through them like a meat cleaver. Gregor Clegane chose self preservation above all; he had to inform the Lannisters of this - that the Brotherhood was working together with these strange newcomers.

Pushing his squire away as he mounted his horse, he kicked it hard and fled towards the Kingsroad while arrows rained down around him. Taking out the men at his side. Riding parallel to the ongoing battle, Tristan spotted him as he looked up, having just killed another group of soldiers.

"ALFRED TAKE HIM DOWN!" Tristan yelled pointing with his sword at the fleeing Mountain.

Theon, having moved forward with the archers, knocked an arrow and took aim. Pulling the string as far back as he could. Taking deep breaths he schooled his vision, there was only him and his target. He adjusted for the arch the arrow would travel, with the speed of Clegane's horse and released it.

The arrow flew through the open air, between trees and foliage. Traveling a path towards the head of its intended target. Gregor looked back at the battle and managed to catch a glimpse of the arrow racing towards him. He barely had time to turn his head and let out a roar of anger as the arrow graced him. Punching a hole through his ear and cutting a deep wound in his left cheek all the way to the corner of his mouth.

"DAMN!" Theon hissed, as the Mountain kept riding.

"VICTORY!" Tristan shouted followed by the combined battle cry of his men and the Brotherhood.

The Immortals were mopping up the last bunch. One placing both its swords at the throat of a kneeling man, showing no emotion as it cut his throat. Another slashing a man's midsection with such strength that only his spine kept him from being bisected.

Tristan tilted his head slightly and pointed at three surviving Clegane soldiers, obviously scared out of their mind. The first let out a scream and charged him. Tristan stepped aside, using his sword to drive his opponent's weapon upwards. He then redirected his blade and sliced him across the stomach. The two remaining men attacked him in tandem, but the Planeswalker proved too fast and deflected all blows.

Managing to knock his left attackers blade away, he impaled the man on his right with Andúril, driving it though leather and chainmail. Leaving him to fall on his knees, clutching the blade. Tristan unleashed both his hidden blades, blocking a strike with his bracers, arms crossed. He moved his hands closer and pushed back. Driving the man's own sword into his face, both hidden blades lodged in his eye sockets.

The Planeswalker let out a grunt, pulled his arms back and walked towards Andúril. Reclaiming it from the soldier he had impaled. Wiped it clean, looked at his men and held it high.

"FOR AVALON!" Theon rolled his eyes at Tristan, while the men cheered around him.

"Nothing like a battle to lighten the mood, right Oghren!" Tristan said, patting the Dwarf on the back as they walked through their ranks. Greeted several times by their men.

"Ha, damn right!" Oghren laughed. Taking a large swill from his canteen of mead.

"The Mountain escaped," Theon spoke as he walked up to them. Having supervised the clean up process. Carts were already hauling the dead knights away, together with whatever metal they had, which would be reforged. The common Clegane men were simply dumped in a mass grave.

"Casualties?"

"Seventeen of ours, as for the enemy...the Immortals are picking up stragglers."

Tristan's smile widened and he patted Theon on the shoulder. "You did a good job Alfred! Don't worry about this...Mountain...if that's what he's called, we'll get him next time."

"At least you clipped him. Now we can definitely spot him in a crowd," Oghren laughed.

Theon chuckled as they reached the clearing in front of their army. The Brotherhood too stood there, surrounding a single man clad in mail and light plate. He wore a yellow tabard bearing the sigil of House Clegane. He was kneeling.

Tristan pulled out Andúril, jammed it into the ground and leaned on it.

"I am Rafford, man-at-arms of House Clegane..."

"Take your helmet off while addressing me!" Tristan spoke harshly.

Rafford looked around quickly. Both the legionaries and the Brotherhood scowled at him. There would be no sympathy for Rafford "the Sweetling" today. He slowly took his helmet off and placed it before his knees.

Rafford cleared his throat, trying to look as regal as possible. "I am a knight of House Clegane...I am granted the privilege of...ransom."

"That you are." Tristan wrested Andúril out of the ground and motioned with his head at Theon, who simply nodded.

The Greyjoy walked behind Rafford, pulled out his war hammer and turned it around, placing the spike at the kneeling man's head. Theon took a deep breath, raised his arm and swung it downwards. Burying his hammer's pick in Rafford's head, as far down it could. The man made a few sounds before his eyes rolled back and he fell over as Theon pulled his hammer back.

"_While goin' the road to sweet Athy, hurroo, hurroo. While goin' the road to sweet Athy, hurroo, hurroo. While goin' the road to sweet Athy..."_ Tristan whistled as he approached the Brotherhood men._ "A stick in me hand and a drop in me eye. A doleful damsel I heard cry, Johnny I hardly knew ye."_

The Brotherhood Without Banners definitely lived up to their reputation as a ragtag bunch of misfits. A group of merry men who took from the rich but gave to themselves in order to fund their personal crusade. They were bloodied, dirty, and their stench could easily be singled out among the smell of dead bodies. Their leader Beric Dondarrion stood before them, ready to greet the Commander of Camelot.

"Barry...Dandelion?" Tristan quizzed, once again leaning against his sword.

"Beric Dondarrion," Thoros of Myr corrected.

"Of course. My name is Tristan Alaire, Commander of Camelot and current ruler of Avalon," Tristan mock bowed. "I can't say that I'm not happy to see you show up, but why now? According to the small folk you lot have been inactive for quite some time."

"To be honest, your presence forced our hand," Dondarrion answered. "When we first heard tales of the God's Eye expanding and a city rising from its waters. We did not believe it. However, when your men began patrolling these lands, we knew it had to be true.

"What we did not know was the side you were on," Thoros cut in. "Farms abandoned, commoners gone, demon's stalking the forests...you understand our quandary?"

"Yes, did we wantonly kill those commoners like the wretched dogs of this world, who have the audacity of calling themselves knights. Or were the rumors in fact true, that there was truly a safe haven for the common people in this shit storm." Tristan smiled. "I'm glad to say that there truly is and all of you are welcome to join it."

"You have my thanks, Commander," Dondarrion replied. "My men are in dire need of supplies, a hot meal would be welcome too."

"Tell you what, mister Dandelion," Tristan held his index finger up. "Swear your fealty to the people of Avalon, that you will safeguard the innocent and protect those who can't protect themselves and I'll provide you with arms and provisions to your hearts content. In return all you have to do...is join its army."

The Brotherhood Captain seemed to ponder the offer, he adjusted the cloth covering his missing eye and looked to his men. They were weary, morale was low and their numbers had dwindled significantly since they set out to capture the Mountain in the name of Eddard Stark and Robert Baratheon. He did not fault those who had left them. They had been fighting for too long, fighting for a dead man - the men needed a new cause to continue. This Tristan Alaire offered just that, with the added prerequisite of a home. Looking at each of their faces, long and hard, he finally got a nod from them.

There was one problem though, which Beric addressed as he turned around. "Before we accept this offer, Commander Alaire, we do have one predicament."

"I'm listening."

"I am a lord of the Stormlands, owing fealty to House Baratheon. If it comes to war, I can't promise absolute loyalty."

Tristan simply smirked. "I understand completely and if this House Baratheon declares war, you and your men are free to leave of your own accord, but remember this. As long as you are guests in Avalon, you will not take up arms against it."

"You have our word on that," Beric replied.

"Good," Tristan smiled. "BROTHERHOOD WITHOUT BANNERS, TAKE A KNEE!"

The fifty remaining men sent by Eddard Stark to hunt down Gregor Clegane and instead found themselves fighting a guerrilla war against all sides in the War of the Five Kings, knelt down simultaneously.

"Do you swear to safeguard the helpless and do no wrong, to always speak the truth even if it means your death, to be without fear in the face of your enemies and to use the power invested in you to protect these lands?"

Tristan eyes shined as he heard their collective reply. "Good. You may have knelt as men, but you arise as CITIZENS OF AVALON!"

Oghren laughed heartily as the Brotherhood, now with a banner, rose from their position. Seeming a lot taller than they had been before. "If all that's done, how 'bout you lot help clean up this mess, I got a barrel of ale calling my name."

"I must say that's the first time I've witnessed someone challenge Gregor Clegane and come out alive," Thoros of Myr spoke as he walked up beside Tristan. "How did you learn to fight like that?"

They were on their way towards Camelot, the legionaries walking in perfect formation as horses pulled the carts with the looted metal and the seventeen dead legionaries. Tristan and his entourage had taken point, together with Thoros and Beric Dondarrion. The latter was constantly looking at his own reflection in a tiny mirror Tristan had conjured up.

It had come as quite a bit of surprise when Tristan had stated that a one eyed fighter in Camelot simply would not do. Followed by him then walking up to the man and put his hand on his chest, enveloping their leader in golden light, holding him above ground for some time before he was sat down. All signs of having been resurrected numerous times gone, looking like the man he had been before his first death, and feeling twenty years younger. Thoros still had not quite gotten over it, having believed only the Lord of Light capable of such feats, but here was living prove of that not being true.

"Oh, you know...pick up something here...take something there, walking the earth, stuff like that," Tristan replied.

Oghren let out a loud belch and walked between them. "What's so special about this Clegane? If he bleeds we can kill him!"

"Gregor Clegane or the Mountain is monster in every sense of the word, you can't bargain nor reason with him. He knows no pity, remorse, or fear and while he understands compassion he decides to ignore it," Dondarrion informed, having gotten somewhat over his regained peripheral vision.

"Sounds like a nice guy!" Oghren grinned.

"Add to that, the fact that he is one of the most dangerous men I've ever seen," Thoros added.

"Perhaps you should get out more often," Tristan deadpanned, causing both Thoros and most of the men to laugh heartily.

**The Dreadfort  
**To say that Roose Bolton was frustrated would be an understatement, and while he wore a stoic expression as easily as a mask, his brow was furrowed slightly. The new Warden of the North was looking over the maps strewn across his table. One month, that was how long he had been hauled up in his fortress.

The discovery of his bastard's mangled corpse had been an unfortunate turn of events, but one that could easily be remedied with time. What came as a surprise was the fact that Ramsay's body looked as if someone had skinned him completely. The Lord was divided on seeking vengeance or congratulating whoever murdered his illegitimate son. The first was out of principle, Ramsay was his blood after all, yet on the other hand; his death meant that now Roose did not need worry when it came to his son's - proclivities. That would surely only further provoke the ire of the northern lords.

The newly appointed Warden of the North dismissed those thoughts and focused on the real problem at hand. The Ironborn were still in control of Moat Cailin, which meant that the majority of his army was trapped in the Riverlands. The men he had managed to sneak across the Neck together with the token force left behind, were enough to protect the Deadfort, but far too few to march for Winterfell.

Control of Moat Cailin was essential for his continued dominance in the North and now with reports of a city rising from the God's Eye, his plans were in jeopardy. His forces were slowly being cut down by an unknown force whenever they attempted to loot the surrounding lands. With no other way of acquiring provisions they had to rely on the Freys for supplies. He needed Moat Cailin and he needed it fast.

"Enter," Roose spoke in his commanding voice.

Locke, Roose Bolton's right hand man and best tracker entered his personal chambers, closed the door behind himself and stood at attention.

"You requested my presence."

Roose looked up from his maps. "Yes, I need you to gather forty of our best men. You'll ride for Moat Cailin and take it during the night. The castle is ultimately designed for southern incursions."

"It will be done," Locke bowed and prepared to leave.

"I need not remind you that I have no interest in prisoners."

"Of course," Locke smiled vaguely before turning around and leaving.

"As for you, Camelot, Avalon..." Roose mused as he set his gaze on his maps again, jamming a knife down on the God's Eye. "What role will you play in this game...do you fancy yourself king or pawn?"

**Camelot, Avalon**

"Tristan, Theon!" Tansy yelled hugging them both as they entered the city with their army.

"Woah, easy there girl, don't wanna suffocate us," Tristan commented as he disentangled himself from Tansy's arms.

"Sure," She said, taking a step back. She was dressed in a white gown with a crown of daisies on her head. A typical decoration worn by the young women of the city. Plucked from its fields. "Oh, by the way, there's someone here to see you Tristan. Says he's an old acquaintance."

"Thank you," Tristan smiled. "Alfred, can you and Tansy take over from here?"

"Why do you keep calling me by that name?"

"This is a new life for you, right?" Tristan said, pretending to be hurt. "I only saw it fitting that you got a new name, besides...what's wrong with Alfred Greyboat?"

The Ironborn rolled his eyes. "Nevermind...and yes I and Tansy can take it from here."

"Good," Tristan added. "And if anyone asks why a woman is giving them orders. You smack them on the mouth and remind them that everyone is equal in Avalon."

Theon nodded and prepared to move with the marching soldiers.

"Your friend should be at the palace," Tansy informed before she too walked away.

After informing Oghren of the afternoon festivities, Tristan moved through he streets, towards the palace, greeting the townspeople on the way and doing small feats of magic for the children. Even healing a man who had accidentally caught his own head, during fly fishing with his son. It was around an hour later that he walked through the first courtyard - the one without weirwood trees - and up the stairway surrounding the terrace, when he spotted a familiar figure standing before the ornate front doors. A large crossbow on his back.

"Well, well, well. This sure is a surprise!" the Planeswalker grinned. "Of all the people in the multiverse, I never expected to see a friendly face so soon."

The stranger laughed goodheartedly. "Friendly faces are the only currency worth a damn. Though I must say, yours was much more girly looking last time we met...Hawke or is it Warden Commander or should I call you Tristan Alaire?"

Tristan went up to the man and leaned down to give him a friendly hug. "Good to see you again Varric!"

"When I heard what you were up to, I just had to see for myself," Varric told him, moving away to give Tristan a good look. "Looks like you've done well for yourself."

"Magic does have its perks."

"That it does," Varric commented, but leaned to the side as he eyed four people moving up the stairs. "And who are these characters?"

"Friends!" Tristan clapped his hands together as the four humans stood in front of him and Varric. "This is Varric Tethras an old friend of mine, we go way back."

The Planeswalker then began introducing each of them to the dwarf, though like Oghren he looked like a five foot tall, heavyset human. Varric himself was five foot one, a little over the average for male dwarves.

"Varric this is Tansy, Palace Custodian...she makes sure everything is running smoothly." Varric shook Tansy's hand and gave her a reassuring smile.

"This is Alfred Greyboat, Captain of the Rangers."

"It's actually Theon Greyjoy..." Theon corrected poker-faced, trying not to look annoyed.

"Really Tristan?"

The Planeswalker ignored Varric's comment. "And these are my newly acquired friends; Barry Dandelion and Boris of Mars."

Varric raised an eyebrow at Tristan.

"It's Beric Dondarrion and Thoros of Myr," Beric and Thoros corrected. If they did take offense to Tristan's deliberate misnaming, they did not show it.

"You just love being annoying don't you Hawke?" Varric expressed as they moved into the palace.

"They do say that irritation is the sincerest form of flattery."

"No. I don't think they say that," the Dwarf commented, earning a collective laugh from the others.

**King's Landing  
**Tyrion wiped his forehead as he walked out of Littlefinger's brothel, Prince Oberyn Martell sure was quite a character, not that he harbored any goodwill towards the Prince's less fortunate victims. Lannister men always seemed to have serious difficulties keeping their mouths shut, even if it would provide them a much healthier disposition. It would not surprise Tyrion if the majority of their deaths were the result of petty insults.

As the two nobles walked down the cobbled streets of King's Landing, sparring verbally and while Tyrion tried to avoid the subject concerning his sister Elia. But the Dornishman kept diverting the conversation back toward just that. Ending with both men looking each other in the eye and Oberyn delivering a not so veiled threat, concerning the unofficial Lannister motto and how it could go both ways.

Oberyn's face lightened and he patted the scowling Tyrion on the shoulder. "By the way, on my journey to this city I heard the most peculiar of tales. A city rising from the God's Eye...tell me that can't be true?"

"Oh, its true," Tyrion smirked. "The people call it the City on the Lake or Camelot and trust me most of us did not believe it to begin with. But then traders began arriving with goods nowhere to be found in the Seven Kingdoms and we received reports of strange men patrolling the Riverlands."

"And the city itself?"

"Apparently rivaling even Highgarden in its beauty."

"And the people?" Oberyn grinned.

"Probably beautiful, probably ugly." Tyrion laughed as they walked across the large promenade overlooking the Narrow Sea. "Can't truly say, never met anyone from there...but they do have a ruler...a champion if you're feeling dramatic."

"Is that so..." Oberyn quizzed, running a hand through his beard. "Tell me about this...champion."

"Well they say he's right out of the Age of Heroes. That he can heal a person regardless of their condition, wields a sword and a spear made entirely of Valyrian steel. They also say that he treats everyone equally, societal position or sex not withstanding."

"Really?" the Dornishman voiced, obviously not expecting this from someone north of Dorne. Nonetheless he took it with a grain of salt, favoring his own ears and eyes rather than hearsay. "I would like to meet this...Champion."

"Tristan Alaire the Flame of the West, is what they call him, but don't presume too much. We all know how the masses love to embellish...for apparently he's seven feet tall, kills men by the hundreds and consumes his enemies with fireballs from his eyes and bolts of lightning from his ass."

Oberyn laughed loudly, all too familiar with tales larger than life. "Now I certainly want to meet this, Tristan Alaire."

**Camelot, Avalon**

_Step we gaily on we go  
__Heel for heel and toe for toe  
__Arm and arm and row on row  
__All for Mairi's wedding_

The band played merrily as the people danced on the raised floor. The victory festivity in full vigor. Tents and tables, lanterns and fires, food and drink, all were placed around the southern field of Camelot, just outside the walls, but still on the island. The ground was even, only sloping downwards near the water. The gates were open and the festival even stretched into the city streets.

The constant chant of "Drink" could be heard as Oghren and Thoros had engaged in a drinking contest, several tankards of ale littered the table between them. While a victor would be determined in the future, both would be losers in the morning. Tristan's alcohol had a kick quite heftier than Westerosi ale - probably due to having stored it in a pocket dimension where an hour equalled a year. The Westerosi of the city had especially taken a liking to this thing he called, Scotch whisky.

_Over hill-way up and down  
__Myrtle green and bracken brown  
__Past the shieling through the town  
__All for Mairi's wedding_

"FIRE AWAY!" Tristan exclaimed lighting the fuse and sending a rocket into the air. It exploded into a giant ball of white light that turned into hundreds of rays that descended on the city, before flying out horizontally across the city and the lake in a great circle. The people cheered and laughed to their hearts content, taking great delight in experiencing fireworks for the first time.

Varric in the meantime was regaling a tale for the children, sitting with a pipe in his mouth and a book in his hand.

"And there he stood, the man he had been chasing for most of his life, the man who had killed his father. A look on his face, so sure that he had won. But would not be so, our brave hero pulled the knife from his stomach and parried each slash from his lifelong enemy. Saying these words." Varric jumped up, earning gasps from the children. "HELLO. MY NAME IS INIGO MONTOYA. YOU KILLED MY FATHER. PREPARE TO DIE!"

_Plenty herring plenty meal  
__Plenty peat tae fill her creel  
__Plenty bonny bairns as weel  
__That's the toast for Mairi_

After setting off a piece of firework that turned into dozens of golden butterflies that the children tried to catch, together with more magnificent pyrotechnics. Tristan walked by Oghren and Thoros who were on their second barrel each, gave a nod to Beric Dondarrion and found Varric. The Dwarf had placed himself on a bench overlooking the waters of the God's Eye and was smoking his pipe, enjoying the festivities that could be seen and heard in the background.

Tristan placed himself beside the Dwarf and conjured forth his own pipe, made a small flame in his hand and lit it. Puffing away as Varric made smoke rings.

"Varric."

"Hawke," the Dwarf replied with a chuckle. "I'm still not used to call you anything but that. The fact that you looked different then...factors in quite a bit."

"Perks of being a Planeswalker," Tristan replied, using his magic to make a ship of smoke, which flew through one of the rings made by Varric.

"That might be. I for one like my current body, besides shapeshifting is way out of my league," Varric commented.

"So tell me. How fare our peers in the multiverse?" Tristan enquired, referring to the planeswalkers who roamed the multiverse.

Planeswalkers, there were many of them, almost uncountable and as varied in strength, skill and intellect as any other intelligent being. They were not even the only creatures capable of traveling the vast cosmos of the multiverse, just more unique. What made them truly different from others was that there were only one of them in the entirety of the multiverse.

While most believe the multiverse is infinite with a few believing it finite, but with such an abundance of worlds that not even a lifetime was enough to count them all. One thing is agreed upon by all and that is the fact that parallel worlds are a common occurrence and that most of them contain similar versions of the same people. Unless one was a planeswalker of course, then due to the peculiar nature of magic, there was only one in the entire multiverse. This was also true for a few godlike beings such as the daedra. Including some worlds. Still, this requires one not to ponder further on the question; are there more than one multiverse?

What truly makes a planeswalkers unique in the multiverse is neither their magical abilities or there only being one of each individual. No, what truly makes planeswalkers loved and feared throughout the cosmos is the fact that they retain their powers upon entering the astral planes. This stands in contrast to beings, like the daedra and aedra, who a fully capable of traversing the multiverse, but the farther they stray from their original plane of existence, the weaker they become. Others simply become, in layman's terms, human or ordinary upon exiting their own realm.

"Well, you know, some hate you some love you..." Varric sighed, blowing out smoke. "Just like Kirkwall, huh."

"At least with everyone out to kill you, life never gets dull," Tristan added, earning a chuckle from his friend.

"True that...still I'd rather not sleep with a knife beneath my pillow."

"How 'bout Isabela, she still mad at me?"

Varric gave Tristan a look as the latter blew out a puff of smoke. "What do you think, you stole her ship!"

"Come on, really? I paid her back tenfold."

"She's a pirate, of course she stays mad, it's the principle of the thing." Varric smiled, making another smoke ring before continuing. "But rest assured, she's happy and sailing the cosmos in a bitching spaceship."

Tristan knocked the ash out of his pipe, a crooked smile on his face. "She better, I gave it to her after all."

"And she's grateful for that...maybe you should pop by when you got the time. Her, Daisy and Sunshine are after all exploring a galaxy far far away."

"Maybe I'll do that, but first, I have business here to conclude."

"Speaking of business," Varric spoke, pulling out a sack of wine and took a swill. "I'm planning on traveling to King's Landing in a few days, you know see the world and all that. Care to join me?"

Tristan snapped his fingers and made his pipe disappear, stroking his chin as if to consider the offer. He smiled and gave his response.

"Why not, I'm sure Alfred, Tansy, Barry and Boris can run the city for some time. Besides, I always wanted to go up to a regent and say; What's up king dude!"

"Then it's settled!" Varric exclaimed, jumping from his seat and dusting his pants off. "We'll leave with the trade caravan in two days."

"But now...time for party and drinking!" Tristan bellowed and so the two friends returned to the festivities.

Tristan jumped up on the raised platform where the band had just finished playing. He held his hand up to show that he was going to say a few words.

"My dear people of Camelot! You have all come in these days from not so far and distant lands, all innocents in a war you had no part in, victims of crimes by perpetrators who went unpunished and most of you did not see a light in the darkness. Until now. Most of you did not believe there was a place that would welcome and shelter all. A place where you are not what you were born, but what you have in yourself to be. A place where all are free. A KINGDOM OF FREEDOM! THE KINGDOM OF AVALON!" Tristan roared, raising his right hand with a clenched fist and joined by the roar of the people.

Tristan opened his hand, motioning for them to silence. "We've lost good people today, good men; husbands, fathers and sons. But do not pity them, cause they're free and wait for you in the halls beyond. Instead rejoice and honor the life they've led, 'cause they gave their lives so all of us could see another day!"

"But enough of that. The time for mourning is over. NOW IT'S TIME TO DRINK, EAT AND CELEBRATE TO OUR HEARTS CONTENT!" Tristan clapped his hands followed by the cheers and whistles from his adopted people.

The Planeswalker went up to the band whispering a few words to them as the festivities began to get back to life. Theon had taken over the fireworks display, while Tansy had decided to man the bar and was filling several mugs with beer. Varric had begun another tale for the children, this time regaling about the small town boy Tristan Thorn and his search for a fallen star.

"Alright people. This is a favorite song of mine, from a green land far away," Tristan snapped his fingers at the band who smiled widely and began playing their instruments. Their flutes loud and clear while Tristan began singing with the rest.

_"Oh! then tell me, Shawn O'Ferrall, Tell me why you hurry so?"  
__"Hush ma bouchal, hush and listen", And his cheeks were all a-glow.  
__"I bear orders from the captain, Get you ready quick and soon,  
__For the pikes must be together at the risin' of the moon".  
_

_At the risin' of the moon, at the risin' of the moon,  
__For the pikes must be together at the risin' of the moon.  
__"Oh! then tell me, Shawn O'Ferrall, Where the gatherin' is to be?"  
__"In the ould spot by the river, Right well known to you and me.  
_

_One word more - for signal token Whistle up the marchin' tune,  
__With your pike upon your shoulder, By the risin' of the moon".  
__By the risin' of the moon, by the risin' of the moon,  
__With your pike upon your shoulder, by the risin' of the moon._

**King's Landing, Red Keep  
**"And what of this...Camelot or Avalon?" Tywin Lannister quizzed, as he looked across the table at the other Small Council members. It was early noon and the head Lannister had just received word from his brother Kevan that Gregor Clegane had lost all his men-at-arms in a skirmish with this City on the Lake.

"There Is no explanation for how it came to be," Varys informed. "But it has become a safe haven for the people of the Riverlands. It's population is already in the thousands and I hear more flock to it with each passing day. Anything else I'm afraid is mostly rumor and guesswork."

"I hear that their...doctors...practice autopsies on dead bodies to study their anatomy." Tyrion commented offhandedly.

"Blasphemy, if I may so," Grand Maester Pycelle butted in.

"You may not, Maester Pycelle." Tywin commanded. "A city rises out of the God's Eye. Roads turn to cobble. A river suddenly runs from the lake to the Quiet Isle and Gregor Clegane loses his forces in a single skirmish. Do you mean to tell me you know nothing of this Kingdom of Avalon!?"

"Who leads them?" Cersei asked.

"A man, Your Grace. His name is Tristan Alaire, the people call him the Silverspear while our men and allies call him the Necromancer. Apparently he has command of the dead."

"Yes and he can slay entire armies and call forth the elements to do his bidding, we've all heard the tales, Varys," Tyrion said nonchalantly. Tywin simply gave him a look, but did not waste his breath.

"What military threat do they pose?"

"From what I could gather he commands an army of around ten thousand men," Varys sighed. "Not a major threat. Nevertheless they have managed to win every battle since their unprecedented appearance."

"Only small skirmishes, they are no threat to us," Cersei commented.

"Don't be so sure dear sister, we might have a new young wolf on our hands," Tyrion replied with a grin.

"This Camelot should swear fealty to the crown," Pycelle added.

"I do have some good news," Varys interrupted the oncoming verbal spar between Tyrion and Cersei. "A caravan from Camelot is expected today, bringing with it goods in such abundance which has not been seen since before the war."

"Good. Then you shall see to it that you gather whatever information you can," Tywin then held up his right index finger. "And find out more about this...Silverspear. We need to know what side he's on and if we can sway him to ours."

"Of course, My Lord Hand."

"Now, as for the coming wedding..." Tywin said, directing the meeting to a more pressing topic.

However the head of House Lannister reminded himself to find out more about this Avalon and their City on the Lake. Were they a potential friend or foe, did the rumors about this Tristan Alaire contain a ring of truth. Tywin did not believe so, but that did not warrant him to underestimate a man able to unite people like moths to a fire. Interesting times were definitely on the horizon.

**King's Road  
**"Tell me again, why you didn't zap this Clegane with your unlimited power?" Varric questioned. He was sitting on one of the trade caravan's wagon with Tristan. Bianca resting firmly in his hands.

Tristan let out a laugh before replying. The Planeswalker had changed into his pirate assassin robes. Andúril and the Silverspear lay on the wagon's bench. A belt which could carry both his sword and spear was fastened around his right shoulder. A red sash around his waist and both his hidden blades on his arms. In his hands was a black recurve bow.

"Well, you know me. I always prefer creation over destruction...and I find more enjoyment in physical combat than waving my arms around and scream; UNLIMITED POWAH!"

Varric chuckled coarsely. "True, nothing quite like skewering your enemies upfront and personal."

"Exactly, there's nothing like sticking phallic objects into a another living, breathing being."

Varric tilted his head and gave Tristan a curious lok. "You've been cradling that bow for most of the journey. What's the story behind it?"

"This!" Tristan exclaimed as he held up the black bow. "Is the Epirus bow, made out of a magical tree from mythical Greece. It generates its own set of arrows, with each carrying enough concussive force to send a man flying backwards and while they dissipate over time, they do not arc."

Tristan then demonstrated the bow's magical properties when he placed two fingers on the string. The entire string glowed golden and an arrow made of light appeared where a regular one would be. As he pulled the string further back, the arrow's glow intensified and the hum it produced augmented.

"If I hold it back long enough it can shatter stone and even breach castle gates," Tristan informed. "And if whatever you're shooting doesn't die after you pump it full of magic arrows...it's probably a dragon!"

"I see why you covet it," Varric observed, as Tristan made the bow disappear into hammerspace. "And why do I not have one of those?"

"Really Varric?" Tristan teased. "You're just going to leave poor Bianca behind for younger pastures."

"I thought you knew me better, Hawke!" Varric played along. "I demand satisfaction!"

"En garde!" Tristan exclaimed and jumped up striking a pose, but in his haste the leather string holding his amulet caught on to a protrusion in the wooden walls and snapped. His portkey amulet slid off and landed hard on the wagon floor and let out a flash of blue energy. Hitting Tristan square in the chest.

"Well, shit..." the Planeswalker stated as the pull of magic fell over him.

"You okay?"

"Yeah, see you in King's Landing when I get there." Was all Varric got to hear as Tristan grabbed his sword and spear, attached them to his back before disappearing in a tiny whirlwind. Varric shook his head and leaned back. This was going to be a long day.

**Unknown Location  
**Tristan kept screaming out loud as the whirlwind reappeared and shot him out, he landed hard upside down on a couch, his silver amulet flying out last and hit him in the head. Letting out a groan before getting up, pocketing the amulet as he did.

As he looked around he found himself in a large tent, most likely the private abode of someone important. Going by the luxurious decor; a large bed with soft pillows and sheets, finely carved furniture, with fine jewelry and clothes strewn about. It was probably only a temporary home, considering it was a tent. The flaps were down at the entrance, which meant the Planeswalker was completely alone. The soft murmur of voices could be heard outside, but it went unnoticed by Tristan as he was sore from his landing.

It was first when he got up, that he felt different. As if his physique had changed and redistributed his weight and height. When he looked down at himself, he could do nothing but sigh in exasperation.

"Oh for the love of god!" the Planeswalker exclaimed, facepalming.

Tristan went over to a large mirror in the room to study himself. His clothes had changed too, while still the same, they were now more form fitting. Fortunately his weapons were still on his back, but due to his reduced height; Andúril was now too long for him to pull out. When he tried to change back to his previous form, he discovered that he could not.

"Very funny Sheogorath. Very funny!"

Tristan ran a hand through his hair and let out a huff of air. His voice had also changed to a Scottish Brogue instead of his previous Welsh. It was not too bad in the end. It was a previous form the Planeswalker had used. It was the fact that he now had to rebuild his reputation, that irked him. That was if he could not change back when he returned to Westeros, cause where he was now was most likely not there.

Tristan or Saskia as that was the name he had used for his current form, studied himself, or rather herself in the mirror. Five foot six inches tall, fit yet curvaceous body, slightly tanned, but fair skin. Red hair cascading around her shoulders in a mane of thick curls, going all the way to the small of her back. All topped off by a pair of deep blue eyes framing a pretty face.

"I'm definitely going to have a word with those two daedra," Saskia mumbled to herself as she let her hands travel across her new form. "On the other hand..."

Whatever Saskia had planned on doing was interrupted as the door to the room was flung open and a woman walked in. Everything went silent as the two women stared at each other.

Unlike Saskia, the newcomer was clad in a backless white dress, which had a diamond shaped midsection that showed off her stomach. She was cute, not overly tall, with platinum blond hair.

"Who are you, what are you doing in my chambers, explain yourself!" the woman commanded, taking a quick look at Saskia's weapons. If she was afraid she hid it well.

Saskia lifted her right hand, palm facing outwards, clearing her throat. She said the first thing that came to her mind. "I can explain..."

Silence reigned supreme. The blonde blinked a few times, crossing her arms and waited for this intruder to star explaining.

Saskia repeated herself. "Let me explain..."

The blonde stood still, an unreadable expression on her face as Saskia still had her arm extended. Only the sound of birds broke the monotony of awkward quietude. Though it was not to be as the blonde smashed the silence with one word.

"GUARDS!"

* * *

Second chapter and events are beginning to coalesce. Will the Planeswalker regain the body of Tristan Alaire or is he now trapped as Saskia. Who is the blond woman and what will Varric do in King's Landing?

All of this will be revealed in the next chapter...maybe all.


	3. Chapter 3: Saskia the Dragon

This story has been abandoned. I simply lost my interest in it and while I tried to continue writing, I came to the simple conclusion that I found little joy in it. There is no real challenge for my protagonists to face and the humor simply was not working.

If you want a kind of continuation of this story, I suggest you follow my new story titled - **Reign of Fire**, which will share some elements with **House of Badassdom** but is a much more serious venture.

Still, here is what I could write for a last chapter. Previous chapters have been revised once again and I would suggest that you go back and read or skim through them. Dialogue between Tristan, Sanguine and Sheogorath has been revised. A goal to their wager has been added.

The teleportation amulet has been changed to a kind of portkey.

Dabass has been renamed Camelot and Camelot named Avalon, I know, unoriginal, but then again - fanfics are hardly original. Information from the Encyclopedia of Approximate Knowledge has been trimmed, with less misspelled names and the book thrown into the fire.

Dialogue between Tristan and Varric during the victory festival has been changed to information on planeswalkers. Plus a load of other smaller details have been changed so silly things don't appear as jarring as before.

**House of Badassdom  
****Chapter 3: Saskia the Dragon**

"_DID YOU OR DID YOU NOT KILL TWO BOYS!?" Tristan yelled at the former Greyjoy who was on his knees before him, clutching his stomach. "That's what some northern recruits say, so don't even think about lying."_

"_You better answer him boy," Oghren spoke gruffly and took a swill from his canteen._

"_Yes...yes.. I did!" Theon yelled in frustration as he got up, his legs shaking from Tristan hitting him. "And not a day goes by where I do not regret it!"_

_Tristan sighed and held his gaze upon him. He then shook his head lightly, smiled and patted Theon on the shoulder. "I could have easily left you in the state I found you in and been on my merry way. Instead I showed you clemency and gave you a second chance at life, don't waste it."_

"_That means don't let it happen again, boy," Oghren added._

_Tristan paced before a century of Camelot's legionaries, fresh troops: volunteers taken from the refugees old enough and strong enough to fight. Farmers, workers and former men at arms. Now, all citizens of Camelot and in time, they would represent the bulk of its army. _

_At the moment they stood in formation, only armed with their tower shields and clad in light armor. They stood in the large quadrangle courtyard of the barracks, framed by pillars and small stairways that led to the slightly raised sidewalks that ran around it, all framed by pillars that held the roof up._

_It was a sunny day and perfect for drilling some discipline into the new recruits. The older hardened soldiers who had already gone through Tristan's training regimen stood and watched as their leader began to address the new blood._

"_RECRUITS!" Tristan yelled, his left hand resting on the pommel of Andúril. "You have all come to my city, 'cause you sought safety from the chaos that rage across these land. Some of you are farmers, cobblers, bakers, liars, mongrels, bastards and thieves. Men from all walks of life who have stumbled into the madness that is war!"_

_Tristan exhaled and studied the recruits. "You have joined this army to fight for a cause, to protect and serve the people of this city, but most of all to find the bond that makes soldiers, brothers in arms."_

_Tristan resumed to pace back and forth. "I believe in second chances and I have given all who seek out Camelot such a chance, but like all civilized societies there are rules."_

_Tristan snapped his fingers at Captain Gared Tuttle who walked up to him, scroll in hand._

"_A professional army is built on discipline and a code of conduct!" Tristan bellowed, as he took a place beside Captain Tuttle. "As representatives of this city, I expect you to follow these rules to the utmost of your abilities...if not, there will be consequences. Captain Tuttle you have the word."_

_Gared cleared his throat and rolled out his scroll. "Our rules: stealing from each other, punishable by flogging! Breaking formation in combat, punishable by flogging! Bullying, Missing signals, drinking on duty and sleeping other than where assigned, punishable by flogging! Desertion, punishable by death! Striking a superior officer, punishable by death! Looting, punishable by death! Rape, punishable by death! Bringing women other than family into camp, punishable by death!"_

"_There you have it boys!" Tristan yelled, arms outstretched. "Do not murder, do not steal, do not rape. Those are rules any good man can follow and if not, I will personally arrange that everyone of you are awarded a permanent residency nine feet under!"_

Tristan or rather Saskia at the moment slowly got to her senses, her forehead was throbbing and it felt like she had fooled herself into drinking with Oghren again. She was still in the tent she had teleported to, but as she tried to get up she found her hands tied behind her back, around the center tentpole. It was thick and strong, enough to keep any would be prisoner in place.

They had confiscated her weapons, including the vambraces holding her hidden blades, meaning that they were not completely stupid. Saskia sighed and leaned back, the memories of a few minutes ago coming back to her. The blonde had screamed for her guards and faster than you could say - "I can explain" - four lightly armored men had appeared.

It had been easy enough to evade getting caught as the Planeswalker had used her new body's superior flexibility to jump and twist around the four men. Alas, it was due to this overconfidence that she had ended up in her current predicament, as she in her joy had spun around to avoid getting snatched by the oldest bodyguard and run straight into a silver tray swung by the blonde. Knocking her out.

"The boys are gonna have good laugh at this one..." Saskia mumbled, trying to get up, but was immediately pulled back by her bindings. Letting out a huff, she chastised her own overconfidence as it had resulted in her getting tied to a tentpole in a situation that most likely did not end with fun time.

"Khaleesi, I beg you to reconsider, this woman...this girl appears in your tent armed with weapons of fine make...I do not think it wise to question her alone." A baritone voice spoke as it neared the tent.

"If you so fear for my safety Ser Jorah, you are free to join me."

Saskia did not know who this "Kelly C" was, but she would chance that it was the cute blonde whose tent she had fallen into and lo and behold it was she who entered, together with a blond man looking to be in his late forties who was holding Andúril in his hands.

Daenerys took a seat and leaned back, legs crossed as she studied her captive. This woman...no girl...she did not look a day older than herself, had appeared in her tent armed to the teeth. She had believed her to be an assassin sent by one of her many enemies, though now she was not so sure. Firstly, the red haired girl had not tried to kill her when she had entered. Second, she had not used her weapons when Jorah, Daario, Barristan and Grey Worm had tried to catch her and third but last. No self respecting assassin would laugh while dancing around four men trying to kill her and then run smack-dab into a pole, knocking herself out. At least in Daenerys' opinion.

Saskia looked up at her captors, a smirk on her face. This was going to be interesting.

"Who are you and who do you work for?" Jorah asked as he looked down at Saskia. Despite her clothes and her athletic physique which he had glanced during the chase around the tent, she looked almost delicate to him. The combination of a fair pretty face, big green eyes and a mane of wild curly hair, gave her a smoldering look, which made it hard for him to take the assassin angle serious. Still, you could never be too careful.

"My name is Saskia," the Planeswalker replied, just as Jorah prepared to repeat his question.

Daenerys let the name roll over her tongue a few times. "And what were you doing in my tent?"

"Would you believe me if I said, I stumbled into it?"

"Don't mock us girl," Jorah said, folding his arms and giving her a hard look. He then cleared his throat and pulled Andúril out of its scabbard, it made a ringing sound on the way and continued to sing as he held it before himself, studying the blade. "This sword...I have never seen its equal. Are we supposed to believe you stumbled upon this too?"

"It was my father's," Saskia replied, technically true, at least in one lifetime. "And before you ask, you wouldn't know him."

"Saskia...is that a Westerosi name?" Daenerys interrupted. "Jorah?"

"Forgive me your grace, but I've never heard of anyone with a name like that," the former knight replied. It could be a Wildling name, the girl before him sure looked like one, though why any of them would venture all the way to Essos was beyond Jorah's understanding. That accent of hers though, it was one he had never heard before and what initially made him think of her as one of them.

"It means Valley of Light in at least one ancient tongue," Saskia informed, scratching her back on the tentpole.

Daenerys motioned for Jorah to hand her the sword, which she held carefully to not cut herself, her fingers tracing the runes that ran along the blade. She turned it around a few times and balanced it in her hands. It was beautiful and even though she had never seen it, it reminded the Targaryen woman of ancient Valyria's splendor.

"The writings on the blade, what do they say?" Daenerys asked, focusing her eyes on her captive.

Saskia let out a laugh, she had changed the original words on both the pommel and the blade to be more in line with what she herself stood for. What Camelot stood for.

"Rise and rise again until lambs become lions," Saskia recited, continuing to the full version of the quote from Maitreya and the Holy Book of Destiny, at least the part she herself liked the most. "And when they seek to oppress you. And when they try

to destroy you. Rise and rise again and again. Like The Phoenix from the ashes. Until the Lambs have become Lions and the Rule of Darkness is no more."

"Interesting words...Saskia," Daenerys replied a hint of intrigue her face as she handed Andúril to Jorah who sheathed it.

"The easy interpretation would be to never give up. I like to think it has a deeper meaning than that." Jorah tightened his grip on Andúril, he did not like that this Saskia had not at one point looked afraid for her life or unnerved by the fact that she had been captured and restrained.

"Lions are a symbol of strength and pride, and thus their own masters. Lambs are weak and blindly follow their shepherds. Much like commoners forced to blindly serve those who own the land they've live on for generations. Slaves in all but name. I do not believe it so. I believe lambs should always fight to be masters of their own fate, thus the words, rise and rise again. 'Cause no matter how many times we face resistance from lions, we will always strike back."

"That's a nice piece of philosophy, Saskia, but you still haven't answered our question," Jorah said sternly, pulling out Andúril and placed the point beneath her chin, lifting her head slightly so she could look him in the eye.

"Well," Saskia ran her tongue across her teeth. "My name is Saskia and I stumbled into your tent. I don't know who you are, nor have I any quarrel with either of you, hence why I haven't killed you yet."

"Bold words, considering your predicament," Daenerys spoke, raising an eyebrow in amusement. "Jorah, sheathe the sword."

"Khaleesi, she could be dangerous," the former knight protested.

"Hey, just think about it," Saskia spoke as Jorah sheathed Andúril. "If I really was an assassin who somehow found a way to sneak into this tent, which I would guess is in the middle of some kind of camp, why would I let myself get caught, huh?"

"What's to say that you aren't lulling us into a false sense of security?"

"You people are far too untrusting?"

"We've had problems with assassins before..." Jorah answered, the light in his eyes flickered as if he withheld a piece of information.

"Speaking of that, who exactly are you people?" Saskia asked, cracking her neck. "Going by the decor and the position of you two I would guess Kelly C, here is in charge and you are one of her trusty knights, am I right?"

"It's Khaleesi and you will address her with respect," Jorah replied, narrowing his eyes at her.

"Sure," Saskia rolled eyes and continued, directing her question towards Daenerys. "Since I've told you about myself, how 'bout you tell me who you are?"

Daenerys smiled faintly and got up from her seat, towering above the redhead. "I am Daenerys Stormborn of the House Targaryen, the First of Her Name, the Unburnt, Queen of...and Mother of Dragons."

Saskia tried to hide a yawn as she tuned out whatever words came out of Daenerys' mouth until she finished. "How you manage to remember all those titles is lost on me. Now, are you going to release me?"

"Are you going to kill me?"

"As I said, I have no problem with you. " Saskia looked Daenerys in the eyes and smirked. "Tell you what princess, release me and I'll serve you for the time being...if not! Then you can kill me to your heart's content."

"And how is a girl, barely a woman, able to serve us?"

Saskia laughed, "I'm full of surprises, Scruffy?"

"Jorah Mormont," Jorah replied, obviously not happy at Saskia's made up name.

"Good to meet you sir! Forgive me if I don't shake hands. I'm a little indisposed."

Daenerys let out a laugh at the redhead and nodded at Jorah. "Cut her free Jorah, I'm sure she won't hurt us."

"Ah, no need!" the red haired Planeswalker exclaimed before standing up, the rope binding her hands falling to the ground. Leaving her captors gaping. "What?"

"How...did you manage that?" Daenerys quickly asked, having schooled her expression fast.

"Not the only thing my fingers are good at," Saskia simply stated, sending Daenerys a suggestive smirk, reaching for her sword. Jorah looked reluctant to return it, but a nod from his Khaleesi made him.

"Your effects are behind the folding screen," Mormont informed, pointing towards the end of the tent.

"A question Saskia. Do you have a family name?"

Saskia looked at Daenerys, her mind working overtime on coming up with a name before her hosts became suspicious of her innocence, but then she remembered a name. A name she bore lifetimes ago, when she had been Natasha, a brilliant if insufferable genius billionaire.

"It's...uh..." the redhead laughed weakly before clearing her throat to speak firmly. "Stark, Saskia Stark! That's my name."

Both Daenerys and Jorah seemed taken aback by this new information, though they hid it well, especially the former, but not fast enough to go unnoticed by the Planeswalker.

"Something I said?"

**Red Keep, King's Landing  
**"This my Lord Hand is one of the colors of Avalon," Varys informed, having spread out the flag on the small council table. "I managed to haggle it from one of the merchants arriving with the trade caravan."

The flag was black with a white tree, six stars circled the crown that took the form of a half circle and at the top was a helmet with a pair of wings on each side, rising above it. Beneath the tree were letters embroidered in silver threads on a background of black silk.

"Rise and rise again until lambs become lions...what's the meaning of this?" Cersei humphed, studying the flag with the rest of the council.

"Oh, I would think there are lots of meanings to those words, dear sister. But none that you would find satisfactory."

Tywin ignored his children as he studied the flag with a steadfast gaze. He did not like the implied meaning of those words. They were the words of people with ambition and ambitious people were always a threat.

"The immediate concern though are the soldiers who accompanied the tradesmen," Varys spoke, having resumed his position in his seat, the usual calm expression on his face.

"I don't know if I believe in demons and what not, but they sure do make an impression," Tyrion commented, his lips forming a sly smile.

"And why did our men not confiscate their weapons, they are strangers in this city and should not be exempt from due protocol," Cersei spoke harshly, sending a look towards the Spider.

"The Gold Cloaks did try, alas the superstitious mind of the common man overcame whatever bravery they had and the caravan passed without further inspection," Varys informed. "Fear is after all a powerful weapon and these men of Camelot makes for a fearsome image."

"They are common men, they might have fancy armor and masks, but they are still men and they die as easily as any other," Cersei cut in, this time not interrupted by her younger brother. "We must watch them, who knows what plots they are setting in motion while here."

Tywin schooled his gaze as he looked at his daughter, for once she had said something sound and though he would be the last to admit it, a small spark of approval lit an ember of love hidden deep inside his soul. Yet it went out as fast as it appeared, doused by his cold pragmatic heart.

"I can see to it that some little birds find their way back to this City on the Lake with their merchants."

"I'll see to it that trade is established with Camelot, we can send river barges to their harbors and we are all familiar with the loose tongue of sailors," Mace Tyrell added, speaking up for the first time.

"If I can come with a suggestion," Tyrion interrupted, clearing his throat as all eyes focused on him. "I know this will be an unpopular proposal...for some of you at this table."

Tyrion glanced in Cersei and Grand Maester Pycelle's direction, earning a glare from the former. "But why not invite their leader, this one Tristan Alaire, to the royal wedding?"

"You would invite these newcomers to my son's wedding!?" Cersei hissed through her teeth, venom in her voice. "They are a threat to our family and I will not allow them close to my son!"

"Silence!" Tywin ordered, raising his hand to make his children end their usual squabble. He then folded his hands and addressed the assembled council. "The Starks are gone and their army in disarray, Stannis Baratheon has put himself under self-imposed exile at Dragonstone, the Ironborn are confined to their islands and the Targaryen girl is cut off by the Narrow Sea. They represent little to no threat to us."

There was a pregnant pause before Tywin resumed his lecture.

"Now this unprecedented appearance of Avalon represents a clear and present danger to our dominion. They are at the heart of the Seven Kingdoms, with an army capable of striking from any direction. Unless, that is, if we reign them in."

"And how, if I may ask dear father, do you plan to reign in a city that has shown no sign of a feudatory spirit and has an army of ten thousand men?" Tyrion enquired.

"By taking them down from the inside," Tywin replied with a grumble. "Lord Varys will send his birds with the caravan back to Camelot and Lord Tyrell will form trade treaties with their merchants. We'll unearth whatever secrets their city has and if the time comes, we'll know how to take it."

"And the wedding, my Lord Hand?" Varys asked.

"Find the leader of the trade caravan and make him deliver an invitation to this Tristan Alaire. When he arrives we'll gauge his persona and see to it that he joins our cause," Tywin answered in his usual commanding voice. "If not...we'll make sure that he does."

"Father..." Cersei protested, obviously not pleased with this Tristan Alaire being invited to her son's wedding.

Tywin simply gave her a look. "My word is final on this matter, this meeting is adjourned."

**Essos  
**"So you take the adult form of a rebellious princess you were last time, the first name of a woman who turned out to be a dragon," Sanguine spoke, clapping her hands as she walked out of the shadows. "and last but not least, if I remember right, shouldn't you be calling yourself Rogers instead?"

"What are you getting at, Sanguine?" Saskia asked as she went to the table with her equipment. Fishing out her silver amulet and tied it around her neck with a new piece of string. She then put on her hidden blade vambraces and flashed the Daedric Prince a grin.

"Oh, it's just...how do you keep track of all the lives you've lived, least of all the people you've met?" Sanguine enquired, leaning over the wooden table and traced her fingers across the wood of the Epirus Bow. "Natasha Stark was how long ago?"

"Planeswalker's are like elephants, Sanguine," Saskia laughed while rearranging her weapons belt slung across her shoulder to fit around her waist. "We have very good memories."

Sanguine licked her lips. "Well, you sure are a good deal prettier than one...anyway that's not why I came to see you at this point in time."

"I guessed as much," Saskia replied, fastening Andúril to her left side. "Spit it out then...can't be worse than a romantic evening with Asdrubael Vect."

"You do know my dear, that Stark is eh...how do I word this...not a very popular name in this day and age and by choosing that name, you've just made yourself persona non grata in Westeros..." Sanguine paused dramatically and straightened her posture. "Especially for people who just have to be sure that a potential threat has been eliminated."

"What are you getting at?" Saskia raised an eyebrow and crossed her arms.

"CONGRATULATIONS, YOU'RE A BASTARD!"

"What?"

"Let me put it this way," Sanguine spoke, flashing Saskia a big smile and pointed a finger at her. "You most likely, inadvertently, affiliated yourself with the deposed Stark family, former Wardens of the North and so on and so forth."

"I have never even heard of these Starks!" Saskia protested.

"Didn't Sheogorath give you a book on this world?"

"Ehm...I skimmed it...and might have used it for tinder...and I might have zoned out when others played mister exposition," Saskia stuttered while rubbing the back of her head. "Besides...I have better things to do than remember every person of note in Westeros."

"People will assume that you're some illegitimate child using the Stark name in an attempt at power play," Sanguine giggled.

"That's ridiculous, why would anyone believe that?"

"Power has a way of subverting the mind, makes one unable to see the forest for the trees," Sanguine spoke slowly, as if addressing an infant. "But now you know."

"And knowing is half the battle, right?" Saskia commented, rolling her eyes at the other woman.

"Exactly! Learning now are we?" Sanguine exclaimed, having moved towards the folding screen that hid them from prying eyes. "Of course none of this would matter if you just changed your name to...let's say Sharpe, but I have a sneaking suspicion that it's already been spread across these lands."

"Well thank you, advice from the God of Tits and Wine is always welcome?" Saskia deadpanned, quite sure that it was Sanguine herself who had spread those rumors.

"Tits and wine...not a bad idea?" Sanguine mused, stroking her chin as if in deep thought before snapping back to her usual self. "Oh and by the way...try not to turn anyone into a bear this time."

"Hey! If I'd known that witch and crow was you and Sheogorath in disguise!" Saskia retorted but was interrupted by Sanguine who blew a raspberry and flipped the bird at her before disappearing in a cloud of glittery smoke.

"Note to self: stop befriending Daedra," Saskia mumbled before adding, "or tell them about your next planned life."

She slung her bow over her shoulder, held in place by its string, and prepared to leave for outside pastures. Only to be stopped as one of her weapons were missing. Cursing to herself while looking around the tent frantically, if they had dared taking the Silverspear for themselves, there be would be hell to follow. Our redheaded hero was just about to give up when she heard the sound of soft steps approaching.

Saskia leaned against the table as a well groomed man rounded the corner of the folding screen, dressed in fine clothes with the smell of fresh flowers following. He was whistling a soft tune and twirling the Silverspear in its compact form, admiring the weapon's perfect balance and decorations.

"A most delicate weapon, my fair lady," the man said, bowing slightly before handing Saskia the spear. "Almost cut myself when I tested it on an unfortunate piece of wood."

"Maybe that'll teach you not to play with other people's toys," Saskia snickered, sheathing the spear on her back and offering him her hand. She had a mild recollection of avoiding him during the chase around the tent. "I'm Saskia and you are?"

"Daario Naharis at your service," Daario declared, taking Saskia's hand and gave it a light kiss.

"Yeah, thanks..." Saskia said, doing a quick eye roll before pulling her hand back as Daario let it go. She swiftly dried her hand off as the latter looked the other way to pull forth a flower with petals matching her hair behind his back.

"And this is for you, a beautiful flower for a beautiful girl."

Saskia raised an eyebrow and gave Daario an amused smirk. "Spent some time finding the right one, did ya?"

The Commander of the Second Sons let out a laugh and ran a hand through his beard. "A fiery rose for the girl with hair of fire and speaking of it, you were quite on fire when we tried to catch you."

"Yeah, what can I say, I'm a free spirit, it's in my nature," Saskia replied, leaning back against the wooden table and rolled the rose Daario had given her between her fingers. "So is this how you greet all the women you meet?"

"Only the pretty ones," Daario grinned, leaning slightly forward as to tower over the Planeswalker. "Tell me then Saskia Flame of the West, how do you greet the men you meet?"

Saskia quickly stifled a snort as she kept her eyes on Daario who had moved a few inches closer, forcing her to crane her neck slightly. This guy was just as bad as Zevran, wait! Scratch that the redhead thought, no one could top Zevran, but he was a contender.

"Like this," Saskia took a step forward and stood on her toes, elevating herself slightly before giving Daario a quick peck on the lips, his relatively well kempt beard scratched hers lightly before she pulled away. "But only the pretty ones."

Saskia slapped Daario lightly on the cheek and got down on her feet. "Take it easy Faabio." She then twisted her way around him and moved towards the entrance of Daenerys' tent, leaving behind an amused Tyroshi who while sad to see her go, could not help but appreciate the way she left.

**King's Landing  
**"So this is King's Landing," Varic laughed sardonically while shaking his head. "More like Beggars Landing...what a shit hole."

It reminded him of Kirkwall, a typical city where everything was divided by layers and the further down you went, the worse it got. It was like a layer cake, you just had to change the filling with people and the icing for the proverbial bodily fluids of them. The added factor of not having a sewage system only helped with the image and while you could say much about his hometown, at least the nobles cared about its state and its people. Of course they also had Aveline running the show and only a fool would dare cross her.

Varric could not help but commend himself for having left the city's muddy streets to walk the gardens as he for the love of the Maker could not remember having ever been to a place where it stank so perpetually of rotten fish and human excrement.

And while he could write several books on the displeasing look of the city, he had to admit that the gardens were beautiful and at the moment he was enjoying himself as he walked through the hedge maze of its inner sanctum. Dressed in his best finery of linen, silk and leather, no one gave him a second glance even with Bianca strapped to his back. At the moment he was alone with birdsong his only companion.

"I wonder what Hawke has gotten into..." Varric pondered as he stopped to study a group of flowers. Years ago he would have been the first to gather a search party for his old friend, but after learning that she was a planeswalker he was content in knowing that she could most likely handle anything short of a dragon.

Letting out a content sigh he cracked his neck and began to walk again, moving further into the heart of the garden. He knew that Avalon could not stay guarded forever and as the skirmish a few days ago proved, it had already gained the interest of outside parties. They needed a net of information and where better to set up an outpost than in the capital of a potential enemy. He had already eyed a building that could serve that purpose - some brothel which the owner had left to be run by one of his lackeys. It would be easy enough to wrest control of.

Varric continued to review different plans on how to establish an information network in King's Landing and the methods required to make it invisible to pre-established ones. So consumed was he that he failed to hear oncoming footsteps in the gravel and as he rounded the corner of the hedge, the dwarf found himself bump into a taller feminine figure hard enough to make them both stumble back and fall on their rear.

Varric groaned as he got up, already preparing a few apologetic words, but stopped as he came face to face with the young woman he had bumped into. It was not that he was rendered speechless by her beauty, she was pretty after all, no it was the sadness in her eyes that made him unable to utter a single syllable and only made him able to stare sympathetically. They bore the same broken look that Merrill once had when her clan had cast her out, that Hawke had when her mother died and when Isabela left her after having fought for her freedom. The look of lost hope.

"I'm sorry," the girl spoke meekly, her eyes cast down as she got up and dusted herself off, adjusting the emerald necklace around her neck.

"It's no problem, my lady," Varric replied as he got up, brushing some wayward dirt off his coat. "No harm done."

The girl gave him a weak smile and offered her hand. He looked human to her, shorter though and a good deal more robust, yet there was something about the dwarf that made her think of Tyrion Lannister, even though the man who stood before her looked nothing like him. "May I ask your name, I fail to recall having noticed someone like you around these parts."

"Someone like me?" Varric laughed as he shook her hand lightly.

"My apologies, I just meant..."

"No offense taken, my lady," Varric interrupted, his face lit up by a smile. "As for my name. I am Varric Tethras at your service," he announced doing an elaborate bow before continuing, "and though I might be short in stature and narrow of purpose, I am also tall in power and wide of vision."

This earned him a giggle from the girl who quickly schooled her expression by holding a hand before mouth. "It's a pleasure to meet you Lord Tethras..."

"Please, just Varric," the Dwarf corrected. "And may I ask of your name?"

"You may call me Sansa...Stark," Sansa replied, her voice breaking slightly as she spoke her family name.

Noticing the aura of sorrow surrounding the girl, Varric offered her his hand and gave her a reassuring smile. "Then may I ask you, my lady Stark, if you would mind accompanying me through these gardens?"

The dullness in Sansa's eyes seemed to lift as she took the shorter man's hand. "That I would love to."

"Good," Varric beamed as they began walking down the gravel roads framed by flowers and trees, while the sun shone down upon them. "Now tell me young lady, would you like to hear the tale of the Champion of Kirkwall?

**Essos  
**"What kind of friend are you? Throwing my book away!" Sheogorath exclaimed, earning a yelp from Saskia.

"Hey! A little something called privacy!" Saskia yelled at the Daedra while pulling her pants up.

They were standing behind a large outcrop of rocks, which the Planeswalker had used as a shield from prying eyes as she relieved herself. It had been a day since she had run into Daenerys and her entourage and had pledged, for the time being, her loyalty to the blonde. They reached the city of Meereen earlier in the day and the only thing Saskia was waiting for was when Daenerys decided to move forward with her plans to take it. Why she did not just send in her dragons to burn it down was beyond Saskia's comprehension. Sieges were such a drag, but then again, Daenerys dragons were not exactly fine specimen of wyrm.

As a child of Ouroboros herself, Saskia had found them frustrating company, they recognized her scent as otherworldly but lacked the understanding of what she was and had hissed and bared their teeth at her upon their first meeting. Only adding fuel to the fire of mistrust between Saskia and Daenerys' entourage. They were no children of Ouroboros, unable to comprehend the common tongues and lacking the intelligence to grasp the true powers of the Dovah. Thus in Saskia's opinion they were closer to glorified attack dogs. Attack dogs that could fly and spew fire, but attack dogs no less.

"Well excuse me! Hero of Kvatch!" Sheogorath whined, twirling his handlebar mustache. He was still dressed in the ridiculously purple getup of a quintessential Edwardian gentleman.

"So, what brings you here?"

"Oh, that..." Sheogorath spoke as he toyed with his monocle. "I was just going to suggest returning to Westeros after this little escapade, as staying with blondie will get you nowhere for the rest of the season and probably most of the next one too."

Saskia let out a huff of air and tightened her belt. "Wasn't planning on it. Just looking for a change of scenery, mud and rain gets boring in the long run."

"Besides, you've been invited to a wedding!"

"Wedding...what wedding?"

"The royal wedding commemorating the holy union between King Joffrey and Queen Margaery Tyrell!" Sheogorath informed excited. "Now there's a marriage for the ages."

"Hm, could be interesting," Saskia replied, pulling her mane of curly hair into a ponytail with a green ribbon. "At least there'll be free food and drink, maybe a murder or two?"

"For a present I suggest cheese," Sheogorath interrupted. "Unfortunately I'm afraid their fickle minds are unable to comprehend the glory that is fine dairy products."

"I got a question for you Sheo," Saskia spoke, fastening her weapons with the sound of eight thousand Unsullied marching towards Meereen echoing across the barren hills. "How did you and Sanguine know of this world."

"Oh, I can't tell you everything can I," Sheogorath smirked and stroked his mustache. "But I can say this, there's more to this world and Nirn than meets the eye."

"Like what?"

"Ah ah ah, that is not for me to divulge, but for you to discover," Sheogorath informed, looking skyward as if reminiscing about some cherished memory. He then looked down and held his hat as he suddenly broke into a short tap dance, followed by him exclaiming his previous occupation, "As for my previous journey to this world. I can tell you that I was a dance instructor!"

"Dance instructor..." Saskia looked at the Daedra with a skeptical look. Sheogorath might be many things but a great dancer, he was not. Just as the start of a smart reply was on her lips, she was interrupted by the fanfare of several signal horns. Alerting her to the upcoming attack on Meereen.

"I see it's time to bid you adieu, sounds like you have a battle to fight," Sheogorath said, adjusted his monocle and tipped his hat before disappearing with a pop. His last words hanging in the air. "If you ever desire some lessons, come see me in Braavos."

"What's going on?" Saskia asked as she moved through the ranks of Unsullied to stand with Daenerys and her entourage, letting out a wolf whistle when she looked upon the city before them.

Meereen was a majestic city, even beautiful, if you liked the imposing domineering style of brutalism. All was built with the intention of spreading fear into the hearts and minds of would be attackers and potential rebels. Its walls were tall, solid and impenetrable and its pyramids stretched into the sky, reminding the lower caste that their masters always looked down upon them. Even if an army was not deterred, a potential siege would prove fatal as support from Yunkai and Astapor could arrive in days time. Granted that those cities had not already fallen.

"Meereen has sent their champion to challenge us, Lady...Stark," Ser Barristan answered, saying Saskia's chosen last name with a dose of skepticism.

He knew the late Lord and Lady of House Stark, and he found it unlikely that the girl beside him was related to them. Although she was pretty enough for nobility, her accent was wrong and her demeanor obviously not fit for a lady of a noble house. Still, the idea that she could be an illegitimate child had crossed his mind, but then again, why would no one have heard of a Saskia Stark until now? Eddard Stark was an honorable man, would he not take any child of his born out of wedlock under his wings, he had after all done it before. The idea that she could have been Catelyn's child did not occur to the veteran knight.

"Please, Ser Barristan," Saskia smirked at the old knight. "It's just Saskia or Miss Stark if you prefer."

"Of course," the knight mumbled, looking at the redhead with a slight scowl.

* * *

That was all I could write before I lost interest, but as I said at the top. If you're still interested, follow my story **Reign of Fire**.

As for what would have happened, here is a short synopsis:

Saskia would fight Meereen's champion and demanded they send the rest of them out to meet her too. There she would subsequently kill them all with their own weapons, finishing first one off last by throwing her spear at him. Sending him into the air and pinning him to the ground, Vlad Tepes style. Subsequently she would blow its gates open with the Epirus Bow.

Some day after taking the city, Saskia calls Daenerys out on some of her choices, like crucifying Meereen's masters and tell her that a man once told her that - "Justice must be tempered with mercy." Before jumping off its walls and use her Dragon Knight powers to turn into a dragon and fly back to Westeros, leaving the Khaleesi and her entourage gaping.

Upon her return she collapses in a forest near King's Landing where she is ambushed by Azura who pins her to a nearby tree and informs her of the growing interest of the world by the daedra and that Westeros and Essos will soon be a part of Mundus. The problem though is that the daedra are vying to establish their power base in this new world and whoever comes out on top will have a considerable upper hand for a long time.

And only with the help of an outside force, like a Planeswalker, the playing field can be evened from the start. But not all her siblings are willing to play fair with all the more considerably evil daedra - Mehrunes Dagon, Molag Bal, Boethiah etc. becoming the antagonists of the story.

Azura then tells her that Namira is gathering forces in the North and in some manner tells her to find someone named Jon Snow, who can help her.

Saskia turns back into Tristan and is informed of a royal wedding when he ventures into King's Landing, there he will find Varric who has taken over Petyr Baelish's brothel and he informs him that they have been invited. He also tells Tristan that he met Sansa and what she has been through, suggesting they save her. Which Tristan initially is not that interested in.

The royal wedding goes down much like the canon one, with one difference. Tristan not familiar with Joffrey's evil, saves him by leaping on top of him and hitting the King as hard as he can in the solar plexus with his healing hands. Resulting in Joffrey projectile vomiting over himself. Of course being vain in person, he is none too pleased, despite actually being saved and demands Tristan and Varric's heads. Varric in the chaos manage to get ahold of Sansa and Tristan kills Ser Meryn Trant when he tries to stop them, the Planeswalker then grabs his two friends and teleports away.

Tyrion is still framed by Cersei when he picks up the poisoned wine cup.

Meanwhile Theon leads a company of men in search of a lost patrol in the Riverlands. There he comes upon them in what appears to be a skirmish, but with soldiers wearing black armor and helmets with a white hand painted on them. Later revealed to be Uruk Hai supplied by Boethiah. Out of the blue, arrows rain down upon his men and Theon is killed with them, which will be the catalyst for Tristan's involvement in the war. As he realizes that Azura's words ring true.

Tristan is them visited by the Blackfish and he helps him liberate the Riverlands.

The planeswalker returns to King's Landing at some point for Tyrion's Trial where he fights as his champion, but in the form of Saskia. The fight is drawn out but ends with defeating the Mountain by slicing the back of both his knees. She then pins him to the ground with the Silverspear and straddles him, summons a fire spell in both hands and press them to his head. Gouging out his eyes too. This she continues until only his scarred skull remains. She then cuts his head of and throws it nonchalantly at Oberyn, before recommending to Tyrion that he should set sail for Essos as his family will likely try another way to get rid of him.

Saskia then ventures to the North and arrives one day after the Battle of Castle Black. Appearing close to where Ygritte is burned. She informs Jon that he needs to go with her further north as she needs his guidance.

In the north Saskia battles the Night's King together with Jon. During the fight Longclaw is damaged beyond repair and the King manages to knock Saskia aside and just as he is about to deal the finishing blow, Jon cuts his head off with Andúril. Ending the threat of the White Walkers.

Saskia and Jon are then visited by Meridia and Azura who informs them that they will take care of any stragglers and send them both back to Camelot as their human enemies are preparing for battle.

Upon their return, Camelot is soon besieged by the Lannister's, Freys and Boltons. Jon is reunited with Sansa and Saskia reveals to her people that she is also Tristan, but she remains as Saskia for the rest of story.

Together with her new friends including Varric, Oghren, Brynden Tully and the Brotherhood Without Banners. They manage to hold back the invading forces, but the odds are not in their favor. That is until the army of Uruks provided by Boethiah swoops into battle, attacking the Lannister's and their allies.

The Camelot men initially believes the battle is won, but our heroes know better as the Uruks turn on them, marching across the bridges. It is only then that Saskia calls in the rest of her Immortals and the battle truly begins.

I never really thought this far but the "evil daedra" appear, Oberyn Martell comes to their aid with men from Dorne and the "good daedra" also aid in the battle. It all ends with Camelot victorious, as Saskia manages to send her daedric enemies back to their planes of oblivion, foiling their plans and saving the day.

Upon the victory celebrations Saskia reveals that it is time for her to return to the cosmos. Sanguine and Sheogorath appear to congratulate her and wait at the portal to the multiverse as she bids her people and newfound friends farewell.

Saskia kisses Jon and hands him Andúril, stating that it is a sword fit for a king. Oberyn is handed the Silverspear, Brynden is given the Epirus Bow and Tansy the seat of Mayor of the City. The rest must be content with some bear hugs.

It is when she reaches Sansa that Saskia seems to ponder something and she asks the girl if she wants to come with her, Varric and Oghren, to travel the infinite cosmos.

Sansa says yes and after a few tearful goodbyes, walks through the portal together with Saskia, Varric and Oghren. Followed by Sanguine and Sheogorath as the portal closes.


End file.
